


Fear and kindness

by britishbossy



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 30,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishbossy/pseuds/britishbossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myclara Victorian AU: A man who believes himself unloveable and a strong, self-assured woman who becomes his light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> comments will be appreciated!

 

 

 

**Fear and kindness**

a Myclara Victorian AU

Chapter 1

It was more than appropriate. Even though he would have rather stayed in London, it was a welcome variety. His mind had solved another puzzle and the solution had been Lady Katherine Stewart. She held a very important position in the secret state buisness since her father's death a few years ago.

Mycroft Holmes was not a man for legwork. He was more than content with his position in London and traveling to the country had always been annoying him but it was necessary. Maybe it would keep him from eating too much as his younger brother always pointed out. Sherlock had once suggested the idea of a bet considering how long it would take him to get fat and die from it. Mycroft knew that he ate too much for a man his age but his form was still tolerable. Tall, broad-shouldered and physically stronger than he looked. His housekeeper had pointed out that the fresh air of the sea would probably be good for his lungs, though he still refused to see her point: he smoked the pipe occaisonally. The carriage stopped and the door was opened for him. Stepping outside, he found himself in front of a beautiful estate, wide stairs leading the way up to the doors, surrounded by rich green gardens and the smell of the sea. They were close to the coast, down here. The climate was much milder and there were more sunny days.

The whole house was expecting him, starting with the servants, standing in line. He was being greeted by the Mister Thompson, the concierge of Lady Stewart who took care of his bags on the carriage. He had not brought much. His plan was to stay for three days, or maybe four if Lady Stewart should insist but that was unlikely to happen. Nobody ever asked him to stay longer than necessary.

His host welcomed him at the open wooden front doors, which released the look inside the huge, marble-floored entrance hall. "Mister Holmes", she gave him a polite yet warm smile and he bowed in respect. Her blonde curls were made in a do and her dress was simple. She was 52 years of age, seven years older than him. "I hope your journey was well", she went on and looked to a young, slightly podgy woman next to her. "May I introduce you to my daughter, Miss Lydia Stewart." The young woman dropped a curtsy but almost lost her balance in doing so. Her cheeks blushed slightly and she casted her eyes downwards in embarrassment. Mycroft had not said a word until then. He knew it would be polite enough to just nod his head and sometimes give a smile, if necessary. He had come here for a reason and for one reason only: the safety of England.

In that moment, a young woman stepped out of the building in rapid moves. She was wearing a black top hat, almost as huge as his own (since when did women wear such large hats in public?), and a slender dress beneath a red army jacket with golden buttons. _\- Out for excitement, leasure activity, probably on her own, walking or maybe..._

"This is my niece", Lady Stewart explained and gave the young woman a dunning look. "Miss Clara Oswald".

Said one gave her aunt a friendly, yet slightly sassy smile before she turned her attention towards Mycroft. She curtsied, her movements so graceful and full as if she was making fun of the gesture itself. Afterwards, she looked him straight in the eye with an almost challenging look. _\- Great amount of self-esteem, pride, a young spirit._ Lady Stewart introduced him as well and he bowed, his eyes not leaving hers. They were of a deep and mesmerising brown.

"Mister Holmes", the young woman adressed him and he blinked as if he was expecting her to say something else, still unable to look away, his hands nearly clenched uneasily behind his back. It was her to break the eye contact then. "I will be out for a horse ride, dear aunt", she smiled at Lady Stewart and without another glance she walked past him and down the stairs.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He was a snob! Clara had never been more sure about a man. In the past 29 years she'd seen plenty of them and Mycroft Holmes, some government official who'd come to see her aunt Kate was certainly the most arrogant and most uptight man she'd ever met. She could see it in his mostly black, fine suits. It was in his every movement, in the tone of his steady, yet calm voice and in his perfect vocabulary.

He was a man of words. He was talking a lot and seemed to have the correct words for everyone and everything. Her aunt had been telling her that Mister Holmes was a so called genius, a mind ahead of its time, just like his famous brother, Sherlock Holmes. Clara had been reading the stories of Doctor Watson about his detective friend and their adventures enthusiastically. They solved crimes, which seemed impossible to understand, traveled across the country in the matter. She would have loved to hear more about it but since their first meeting, she'd decided not to talk to Mycroft Holmes unless it was absolutely necessary.

It was the third day of his visit and they were all having tea together in the salon. Clara was sitting next to her cousin Lydia on the chaiselounge, aunt Kate in the armchair and their guest was accommodated on a chair across the room. They were talking about the safety of England and Mister Holmes was trying to convice her aunt that it would be better for them to move back to London. Clara had been to London once. It had been in the same year her mother had died. Papa was still living in Blackpool though but aunt Kate had paid for the trip. It had been hectic and full. She kept asking herself how it was even possible to breath there. All men were smoking, just like their guest. Not now, however she'd seen him smoking the pipe once. Clara had made sure to enjoy her stay at her aunt's, therefor she was out most of the time, riding over the fields, walking on the beach. It was never boring out here and the weather was just fine. But Mister Holmes seemed to be having none of it, however he hardly left the house. Maybe he was scared that the wind could mess up his ginger, slightly curly hair. Apart form the colour of his hair he looked quite strict. The beard made him appear older than he was, his elbow in perfect square each time, he lifted the tea cup to his lips, his wrist twisting almost gracefully.

"It is far more comfortable out here, don't you agree, Clara?". She blinked and noticed her aunt's look on her. "I'm sorry. Comfortable where?". Feeling her cheeks redden, she did her best not to look at Mister Holmes but from the corner of her eye she could see him smile faintly. Was he making fun of her? Who did he think he was? "Out here in the country", aunt Kate explained. "I was saying to Mister Holmes that I can handle the business from here just as well as from London. And it is far more peaceful out here, don't you think?". Clearing her throat, she nodded before looking at Mister Holmes once more. His eyes were fixed on her, his gaze interested and she suddenly felt nervous. "Yes", she said as strongly as she could. "I have always admired the country more than the centre." With that she cast her eyes downwards and took another sip from her tea, swallowing the liquor down her curiously dry throat. Although she was not looking she could still feel his gaze on her and tried her best to keep her breath even. She would have loved to excuse herself now but it was not appropriate. She would have to wait for his reply at least. And of course, he gave it to her on an instant. "May I ask, have you ever been to London, Miss Oswald?", he adressed her and she had no other choice then to lift her head and look at him once more. He'd put his tea cup on the small table next to him, one hand rested on his knee, the other in the small pocket of his waistcoat, the golden chain of his pocket watch hanging out. He looked like a king. And she felt like a small kitchen servant, telling him that there would be no soup today. She nodded once more and lifted her eyebrows and chin demonstratively. "Yes, I have been to London a few years ago, Mister Holmes. I felt it was a bit...". She was searching for the right word.

"Overwhelming?", he suggested politely but his left lifted eyebrow was telling a different story. Clara swallowed down her upcoming annoyance about him and cleared her throat once more. "Yes", she agreed. "That was exactly the term I was searching for. Thank you". He did not answer and she quickly took a rather great gulp of her tea, looking away from him once more. Hopefully she would not see him for the rest of the day. "Clara, dear", her aunt began, and she knew that something was up. Something not nice. "Since Mister Holmes has not been able to see much of the beautiful country side, would you be so kind to show him around the sea? I am sure it will be a wonderful evening". Her eyes went wide for a second before she got them back under control and looked at her aunt, desperately searching her mind for any possible excuse. "But aunt Kate, I...I still have to write a letter to Papa". Kate smiled knowingly. "I am sure you can write him a letter tomorrow, dear."

"Will you join us, then?", Clara asked hopefully. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with this man. He would be talking excessively all day, not accepting any opinion rather than his own. From the corner of her eye she could see his expression turn to stone. He was already feeling the same amount of antipathy for her as she did for him, then.

"I would love to but as you know I need to finish the business Mister Holmes came here for", aunt Kate said. "And Lydia has piano lessons to do". Clara looked at her cousin for help but Lydia just shrugged her shoulders and stood in time with her mother. When their guest came to his feet as well and stretched his black jacket, Clara stood as well and folded her hands. Well, great news, then!

"I will inform Mister Thompson that you will be in need of a carriage", Kate said to Mister Holmes. "I am certain that you will spend a wonderful day". With that, the women curtsied and Mister Holmes bowed respectfully before Kate and Lydia left the salon. Suppressing a sigh, Clara looked at their guest and smiled. "I suppose I will be able to show you a great view of the sea since the weather is so nice", she said, trying to release the awkward tension in the room. She would be polite and friendly, she promised herself.

"There is no need for hypocrisy, Miss Oswald", he answered dryly, checking his pocket watch. "Excuse me?", she asked, more than a bit perplexed. He lifted his left eyebrow again and gave her an almost frozen look. "It is obvious that you do not think very highly of me, which does not matter to me in any way", he explained bluntly and her eyes went wide. "So I would appreciate it if you did not try to be more friendly than necessary. It will be enough to comply with your aunt's request and show me around". And with that, he bowed and stepped out of the room, leaving a confused Clara. How dared he saying something like that? And why was she feeling so caught? So guilty?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He should have refused. He had absolutely no interest in being showed around, on top by a naive woman, whom obviously had a control compulsion and could not stand him in any way. She was jugding him. Mycroft could not have cared less but that much was rich from a whippersnapper like she was. A woman in her late twenties, not even fully grown up, still chasing after her wasted youth, not able to accept any critics or limitations of what she believed to be her freedom. Sitting opposite from her in the carriage, he kept his eyes on his folded hands holding his umbrella. He always carried it with him, just in case. "Are you not going to look out of the window?", she broke the more than unpleasant silence and caused him to look up. Keeping his face perfectly blank, he looked her up and down briefly before he answered: "No, thank you".

He heard her inhale as if she was going to reply something but she decided against it and fell silent once more. Good for her. Out there there was nothing Mycroft did not already know. Fields, rocks, grass, animals. There were deers out there and he could hear them moving. He could smell the corn and the rain that was abut to come in the afternoon. He hated it. It was making him sick.

"My aunt told me you're a genius", she stated, and he was about to complain about her half-hearted attempts to make conversation when he noticed the sassy look across her features. She was challenging him. Fascinating. Nobody else was ever challenging Mycroft Holmes, well, except from his brother. They all feared him, were certain that he could rain hell upon them only by raising so much as a finger. But in the eyes of Clara Oswald he saw no fear. Instead he saw...curiosity.

"Your aunt's information about my person is correct", he answered, keeping his voice cold and distant. This child was probably making fun of him all over again. He noticed her arching eyebrow without even looking at her. "Prove it", she said. Mycroft blinked and looked into her eyes once more while the carriage was slightly swaying. "I beg your pardon, Miss Oswald?".

"Please", she reinforced and leant back expectantly, her arms crossed. "It is said that you are able of doing deductions, show me."

He had abolutely no intention of doing so, naturally. "Why would I do that, Miss Oswald?", he asked, letting his voice sound rather rough and displeased. She crooked her head to one side, her smile still firmly in place. "Since I asked you nicely I would really appreciate it if you would be so kind to show me", she purred, her tone sickly sweet. "Could you really refuse a lady's request, Mister Holmes?", she went on. "Would your gentleman's code not forbid you to do so?". _\- True. And nicely played_

It took him much more effort not to clench his jaw than he'd expected. She was quick for a child, he gave her that. Raising his eyebrows at her briefly, he took a deep breath, making it sound like an annoyed sigh before he casted his eyes downwards and began: "You are in your late twenties, only child, a governess off duty for now, same as your mother has been who has been dead for about 10 years, probably longer. A disease for it happened completely unexpectantly and transferred you into a state of shock which you still have not quite overcome. I can tell that this hat of yours was a gift from your mother, much older than it appears to be for you treat it so carefully. You hold a quite high effort of emotional value towards it and you hardly leave the house without it. If you were to lose it it would feel like losing the last connection to your mother and therefor losing her all over again."

He stopped himself, knowing that he should not mention his following deductions out loud. _\- The circles underneath her eyes ran deep enough to tell him about the nightmares which were haunting her almost every night, not only about her mother's death but mainly. She used that sassy smile of hers to cover her insecurity and doubts about herself. But there was also bravery, a proper intellect and selflessness. At least, she was not that stupid, then._

His eyes wandered out of the carriage, across the landscape, away from her. She blinked the tears away which had been coming up during his explanations before she swallowed hard and cleared her throat afterwards. "It's true", she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "All of it", she added and took a deep breath as if to calm herself. "I know", he stated, still not looking at her. He knew what was about to happen. As soon as they would get back home she would run whining to Lady Stewart, telling her what a terrible, rude alp their guest had been and he would be asked to leave for London early. Usual business then. "That's smart", she added, her voice suddenly different. "I know", he repeated and looked at her curiously. She was smiling in a sad way. She was both, amused and hurt. Interesting. She raised her brows provocatively and her smile grew wider. Stopping himself from frowning just in time he asked: "May I ask what amuses you, Miss Oswald?". She chuckled softly. "You were just looking out of the window", she said. His mask almost slipped before the carriage came to a hold.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

So, he was a genius, then. Well, she was not going to be damsel in distress for that was him. Alone his face after she'd told him about his looking out of the window. He'd done his best to conceal it but his surprise had been written all over it. She had got him. She smiled at herself.

They were standing on the edge of the cliffs, the English sea sweeping beneath them. Clara had to hold her hat with one hand for the wild wind was tugging at it. The skirt of her dress was fluttering but she did not mind. The sun was warm on her face, the salty smell of the sea made her breathing more freely and the cries of the seagulls was a familiar melody to her ears. Watching the waves crashing against the cliffs, a power so strong and ancient she couldn't help but feel very small. What was she but a heartbeat compared to this wonderful nature? A whiff within a storm. A faint memory. She tore her eyes from the white crestwaves washing over the rocks, forming their shapes for over decades and looked at her aunt's guest. Mister Holmes had taken hold of his hat himself, his other hand supported by his umbrella which was black like the rest of his clothes. She had considered to ask him who he was griefing for but as far as she knew he had never been married and apart from his brother, the famous detective, nobody knew about his family. Clara couldn't help but wonder. What was his explanation for living a life in solitude? Stepping closer to him, she asked: "Would you like to go down to the beach?", although she was certain that she already knew his answer. He did not look at her when he said: "No, thank you". There, she'd been right! How could a man with that much knowledge be so predictable?

Not far from them a narrow path led down towards a short band of a beach with sand and dunes. She loved to sit down there, especially in summer when the wind was almost mildly stroking her skin. Her escort was staring at the horizon, seemingly lost in his thoughts. He was completely motionless, as if he'd turned to stone. Clara wondered if he would notice anything by now. Would he notice if she left? Would he notice if she made rude gestures or noices towards him? In that moment she recognized a bird flying in circles right above them. In a reflexsive movement she put her free hand on his shoulder and gestured towards it with her chin. "Look, another one!". The touch brought her an almost inflictive look of his but she decided to focus on the bird. He had overstepped her comfort zone back in the carriage by talking about her past and fears in the most rude manner and now it was her turn. Besides he could easily get rid off her hand by taking one step aside, so in contrast to him she was giving him a way out. The bird did not look like a seagull, she realised. It was bigger and its colour was different. "This is a seahawk, Miss Oswald", Mister Holmes explained dryly and kept standing exactly where he was even though she could feel his body tense. She looked up at him until he turned his head and his eyes found hers. They were of a greyish blue, cool and steely. They reminded her of a frozen pond. His face gave her nothing. It was completely blank. No movement. No emotion. It was almost creepy. She blinked when he raised his eyebrow in question. "Good to know", she smiled and took a step back, unsure what to make of that look, letting go of his shoulder. The tension seemed to leave his body immediatly. Well, at least a little bit. His back was still a perfect straight line, his shoulders pulled back, his chin up. "Considering the fact that you have been around here for much longer than I have one should think that you know about the fauna of this country side", he stated coldly and his brow twitched arrogantly before he turned and walked back towards the carriage.

It took her a moment to realise what just had happened before she turned as well, jogging to catch up with the large strides of his long legs. She caught up with him at the carriage and stood in front of him, her hand put on the door, stopping him from getting inside. He was not looking at her.

"Mister Holmes, I am sorry for...for whatever I may have done to let you believe that my opinion of you-"

"I do not believe things, Miss Oswald", he interrupted. "I see and I observe. I notice everything. Especially the antipathy of other people towards my person." He gave her a cold look. She felt strange, as if she was facing a trial. "But I have learnt to deal with them in my own way. Caring is not an advantage", he added when Thomas came but was not sure whether to open the door between the two or not. He remained standing a few feet away from them, his hands folded, waiting.

"What makes you say that?", she asked. She could not help but feel pity for him. A man who spoke like that must have been hurt in the past, she thought. What had made him this way?

"Experience of life and basically logic, Miss Oswald", he answered. He sent a patronising look over her form and said: "You have all of this to come, possibly". With that he opened the door himself and got inside. All Clara could do was to stare at him a while longer before shaking her head in annoyance. She then turned towards Thomas. "By now I think I prefer to walk home by myself", she said. "Please bring Mister Holmes back while I will use the time for a nice walk". And before Thomas could say a word she stepped away, not minding the fact that the clouds were turning grey above her.

She had walked a few feet on the path when she heard steps approaching from behind. "You will get drenched". Not stopping in her movements, Clara shook her head. "The rain will start in a few minutes and you do not have anything on you to keep you dry", Mister Holmes was still behind her but had stopped, sure that she would stop as well. Oh, no, she thought. Not going to do that! "Miss Oswald!" he called and she finally stopped and turned to face him. What was it he wanted from her? What could he possibly want?

"This is childish", he stated and she felt like slapping him across his arrogant features. He was right, she knew. But she would not admit it, ever! "I would like to take a walk on my own, so please feel free to leave me alone", she shot back. What was he thinking?

"I will not leave you out here, all on your own", he said.

"Why not?", she asked. "You just told me that caring is not an advantage".

"This much is true but I am afraid I owed your aunt an explanation if I returned without you and I would rather avoid this". Crossing her arms, she stared into nothing, trying to think. This man was really insuffreable! Suddenly she felt a drop on her head and tensed. He had been right. Opening the umbrella, he held out his hand and gave her a requesting look. Clenching her jaw, she stepped towards him, under the umbrella but did not take hold of his arm. Why did it have to rain anyway?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

When they returned, Lady Stewart greeted them at the front door, complaining about the unsettled weather these days. Luckily he had been able to convince Miss Oswald to join him in the carriage before she would have walked all the way back, getting soaked. Said one baid farewell as soon as her aunt took a breath and disappeared hurridly up the stairs to her chamber. Mycroft brought his hand up in front of his mouth to hide the light twitch of amusement.   
She was an untamed child, a wild wind trying to break out of conventional rules. She was stubborn and bossy and obviously she had a huge control compulsion. She was furious like a forest fire. Her soul was dancing in a hurricane he had caused and he liked it. The young woman was easy to manipulate, even easier than his brother. He could let her sway and jump and dance like a puppet on a string if he wanted. And this much would be a welcoming variety.

He did not see her again until the next day. Miss Oswald had been doing her best to avoid him by staying busy with writing letters to her father, going out for long horse ridings and walks, always on her own. This was confusing. She did not seem like a person who enjoyed being alone like he did. In company, she was the most delighted and very talkative. But when the sun was disappearing behind the trees he had been watching her once in the garden, sitting on a wicker chair, her eyes staring into the distance, her mind wandering on its own. It had been fascinating.  
He had stopped at the door of the winter garden, watching. The orange passing rays had given her brown hair an almost ginger colour. Her skin had been glowing golden and she had appeared like a greek marble statue. She had not moved one single muscle, her mind completely drifted into the distance, somewhere unknown. Mycroft had kept on watching the bizarre yet enchanting scene for a few seconds longer before he had turned away and had stepped back inside the house. Confused he had found it more difficult to do so than he had thought it to be. It had been an astonishing scene to behold, almost enchaining.   
She followed soon after, completely unaware of his staring a few seconds ago and joined him in the salon. She sat next to her cousin Lydia Stewart on the chaiselounge while he occupied the chair on the other side of the room. Miss Stewart was busy with some needlework and Mycroft had borrowed a book from Lady Stewart's library about Egyptian culture which was not very interesting but it would do. It was his last evening at the manor. Tomorrow morning he would return to London with the papers Lady Stewart had signed. His thoughts back on his work already he just noticed Clara Oswald standing next to him when her foot bumped against the leg of the chair he was sitting on. Looking up, he found her standing in front of the bookshelf behind him, studying the titles. She blinked. “I'm sorry“, she smiled politely and took a step left, away from him. He nodded once before he turned his gaze back to the book.   
“It seems too long“, he stated before he could stop himself. “I beg your pardon, Mister Holmes?“. He could see her looking at him from the corner of his eye. He frowned slightly, his eyes fixed on the lines he did not read. “The seam of your dress. It appears too long for you cannot see where you are putting your feet“, he explained calmly. It was a bordeaux dress, simple yet very delicate, for a dress. It flattered her slim form quite nicely, for a dress. And the fabric of it was very smooth, he had found when it had brushed his hand by mistake a few seconds ago. Maybe that was why he had pointed it out at all. Miss Oswald cleared her throat and turned her attention back towards the bookshelf. “I'm afraid my attention has been occupied by the books, Mister Holmes“, she said, her voice soft. “My apologies“. She got on her tip toes and reached up, pulling a book out of the shelf. “Then perhaps you should watch your steps more carefully“, he added quietly but loud enough for her to hear. A part of him was telling him to stop this childish feud he was maintaining. It was like playing with the flame of a candle, trying to touch it over and over again until you got burned. Something stupid and yet strangely compelling. Miss Oswald turned the book in her hands and stood in front of him, her head crooked slightly to the side, watching him intently. Against his better judgement he raised his eyes to her face, his expression completely neutral. “Or perhaps“, she muttered gently. “You should accept my apology“. With that she held out her right hand to him and smiled expectantly. She was challenging him. He could accept it and let it go for once and for all or he could ignore her offer and leave her dumbfounded. But that much would be against his gentleman's code. Mycroft was wondering where this was going. It was pointless for he would leave the next day and hopefully would never see her again. In the end his well manners took over. He took her offered hand gently in his and carefully touched his lips to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. In summer it was way too warm up here for wearing gloves and he found that he did not mind the little touch. Her skin was smooth and warm, she felt young and wealthy. It felt bearable, almost well. Her face had changed. - Surprised by him and by her own courage, interested in this new situation, a bit overwhelmed.   
When he caught Miss Stewart looking at them with the slightest amusement in her eyes, he let go of her hand and sat back, his attention returning to his book once more.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

He had kissed the back of her hand! When she had offered her hand to him she had been expecting him to shake it briefly but nothing more. Actually it had been just a light press of skin against skin but Clara could not help but wonder. It had been a nice touch, so gentle she would have never expected Mycroft Holmes to be capable of. He had taken her competely by surprise and the fact that he had been well aware of it bothered her. The challenging look he had given her had spoken more than mere words ever could. He had known exactly what he had been doing and obviously he was proud. Clara did not know why he was still keeping up this...feud between them but it seemed that he did it for amusement. She shook her head and sat down next to Lydia who gave her an almost moronic smile. Ignoring it, she opened the book she had just fetched and decided to read to distract her thoughts. But she couldn't help but clench her hand two or three times, feeling goose bumps upon her forearm.

Soon it was time for dinner and Thomas came to inform them that Aunt Kate would join them a few minutes later. Lydia excused herself for getting ready and she found herself alone with Mister Holmes once again. The heavy silence was almost unbearable but she decided to ignore it. Tomorrow he would be gone and she would never see him again if she was lucky. She was looking forward to the next day also because of the ball her Aunt had arranged. All of England's noble society was invited and it would be a wonderful evening. Clara liked balls very much. She had only visited one by now but for all she knew she enjoyed dancing. She liked it very much in fact.   
“Why won't you join us for the ball tomorrorw night, Mister Holmes?“, she suddenly asked. - _What are you doing? Shut up!_  
He looked up from his book, frowning. His eyes lingered on her face for a few seconds, reading her before he casted them downwards once more. “I am afraid I do not indulge in this sort of ...“, he was searching for the right term. “...leisure activities, Miss Oswald.“   
“So, you don't know how to dance?“, her mouth seemed to have evolved a mind on its own. She blinked, slightly confused by herself. What was she doing here? Why was she doing this?   
His eyebrow raised arrogantly and the corner of his mouth twitched. Was he enjoying this? “I do know how to dance, Miss Oswald. Be certain of that. I have been to formal balls a hundreds of times before you were even born“.   
She swallowed down a snappish comment to his remark about her age. She would not give him this satisfaction. Clara knew that she was young, maybe she did not have a knowledge as great as his but she was on her way. And she would not get distracted by a middle aged, arrogant, bored politician with fiery red hair! “You must find it incredibly boring then“, she shot back, looking at him challengingly. Mister Holmes looked up once more, his expression blank. Why was he doing that? Was he made out of stone? Did it make him feel powerful?  
“I do indeed, Miss Oswald“, he answered dryly. “The conversations on such evenings are mostly about myths and relegations, not necessarily true. Most events like these are for young bachelors and women, trying to save their reputation by arranged marriages.“  
Clara let his arguments sink in. How could a man be so...cynical about everything? About life itself?   
“So, you do not think very highly of marriage, then?“, she asked, seriously interested by now. He shook his head. “Indeed, I do not. I work for the British Government as you know. And therefor I see marriage as an utter waste of time“, he explained coldly. But then again, his eyes were fixed upon her once more. “What about you, Miss Oswald?“.  
She felt her eyes go wide briefly but quickly got them under control again. “Call me naive but I don't see the point in marriage without love“, she answered and raised her brows. He seemed surprised at that. “Is it not self-evident these days for a woman that love should come after marriage? If it comes at all, you see“. She shook her head and smiled gently.   
“No, I don't think so. I suppose that if we wait patiently love comes to all of us in the end.“ He frowned once more. “Don't you agree, Mister Holmes?“, she asked.   
“I am afraid, I do not“, he replied. “All lifes end. All hearts are broken.“  
Now it was her turn to frown. Clara closed the book in her lap and leant forward slightly. “Is that why you're not married?“ She couldn't help but wonder. He talked as if he knew what a broken heart meant. Clara herself didn't. In fact she was taking great pride that she had never been in love before. No man had been able to fool her until now. And she had no intention of letting this change. Men were falling for her, not the other way around.   
Mister Holmes did not answer, just stared at her. Maybe he was angry about her rude question, maybe he was wondering why she had asked him in the first place. Clara didn't know what he was thinking. How would anyone know with this man?   
She opened her mouth to apologize when the door opened and Lydia entered, her face enlighted with excitement. “Clara, Clara! He's here!“, she exclaimed, her cheeks rosy. “Mister Smith is here! You remember, the young, single bachelor I told you about who calls himself the Doctor!“ Clara blinked. Lydia had mentioned this fellow to her more than once. Her cousin approached her with two steps and grabbed her hand. “Come on, you have to meet him!“  
And before she was able to say another word, Lydia had dragged her outside already.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Mycroft knew the young Mister Smith. He had been working for him indirectly in matters of classified civil service. This services had always aquired Mister Smith's knowledge because he seemed to be the only man in the whole world who was able to cope with...unnatural events.   
Smith was greeted in front of the house by the servants, Lady Katherine and soon Miss Lydia and Miss Oswald joined them. Mycroft was watching the scene carefully from behind the window of the salon. The young man's suit was made of a dark purple wool, his hair was a bit too long and he was wearing some pretty impressive glasses. He hadn't been wearing them the last time Mycroft had seen the fellow. Miss Lydia appeared to be very fond of him. Obviously they had met before and the fact that she had told Miss Oswald about this encounter gave Mycroft no doubt about that fact. Blinking, he turned away from the window. It was time for him to leave. He had received what he had come for. There would be a ball this evening which he was not going to attend under any circumstances. He was needed in London. It was for sure that at least 10 letters from Mister Stanton and from other minions were waiting for him.   
There was nothing holding him back. With a sigh which he had no idea where it had come from he put the book back to the shelf and left the salon to collect his garments from the guest room.

When he was ready to leave he found Lady Katherine in the winter garden to say farewell.   
“Mister Holmes, please“, she said when he came in sight. The Lady was sitting in one of the wicker chairs and gestured him to take seat on the other one, opposite from hers. They could see the garden in front of them, the sun was shining bright and Miss Lydia, Mister Smith and Miss Oswald were walking around the grounds. Mycroft just wanted to speak when Mister Smith's eyes fell upon him. - _Dear Lord, no!_

The young man's face lit up and as quickly as he could he made his way to the winter garden. Miss Lydia followed immediately while Miss Oswald took her time and examined Mister Smith's backside rather expertly. Mycroft felt a strange twist inside his stomach at her look but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. He stood to greet the young man.   
“Mycroft Holmes!“, the young fellow exclaimed effusively and grinned brightly. He took the offered hand and Mister Smith shook it almost violently.   
“Government official, a genius in every way, an even greater mind than his little brother, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes and counsellor to our great queen Victoria I.“, the young man smiled as if he'd just met an old friend. Which was not true, of course. Mycroft did not have friends. And especially not men as impulsively as Mister Smith.   
“What a joy to meet you here at this wonderful day, old friend!“ Mycroft smiled enforcedly. - _Oh, for god's sake!_  
“The pleasure is on my part, Doctor“, he answered and the young man blinked briefly. At that, Miss Oswald spoke as she stood next to Mycroft's chair. “You still haven't told us what you're a Doctor of“. Smith stepped closer to her, almost too close as Mycroft found. It was a close thing to invading her space.   
“That, my dear Miss Clara is a states' secret“, he answered rather mysteriously. “You can ask Mister Holmes here“, he added and Mycroft wished in that very moment that he had already left. Why was he dragging him into this now? But before he could say something, the young woman answered: “First of all, this is Miss Oswald to you, Mister Smith. And secondly I was asking you, not Mister Holmes“.   
Mycroft felt the corner of his mouth slightly twitch upwards and raised his hand to cover it. Miss Oswald was a bright woman after all. Well, for a woman of her age.   
But the Doctor found a solution very quickly. “My apologies, Miss Oswald“, he said and bowed respectfully. “I'm a doctor for whatever people need me. One day you might see.“ With that he winked at her cheekily in a way he was sure that she liked it and turned to Mycroft once more. “My dear friend“, he said and Mycroft had to try very hard not to grimace at the word. “May I assume that you will join us for the ball tonight?“ The word “no“ had been on his tongue but when Miss Oswald stepped away and left for the garden once more, he found himself saying: “Yes, of course, Doctor. I would rather not miss it“. Miss Oswald turned around at his words, her features enlightened by surprise. “Great“, Mister Smith exclaimed and Lady Katherine seemed to be rather pleased as well. “That would be wonderful, Mister Holmes. There are some people I would like to introduce you to“.   
Mycroft nodded, seeing Miss Oswald smile knowingly from the corner of his eye.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Clara's eyes looked back at herself out of the mirror. Her maid had made up her hair in a wonderful do, her cheeks were rosy, her green dress was bringing out her dark eyes. She put on her mother's necklace, a golden charm with a maple leaf on it. It would protect and guide her, or so her mother had said. That had been back when little Clara at the age of five had gotten lost in town. After her mother had found her, she had given the necklace to her. _“As long as you carry this with you, I will always be there to guide you. No matter where you are, I will find you. Always.“_  
Blinking her tears away, she looked out of the window. The orange light of the sun was fading and soon the ball would begin. Mister Smith would be there, too. She smiled. She liked the young man. He was funny and cheeky, just like her. He was mysterious, not telling what kind of a doctor he was but obviously he had some knowledge about the government as well for he knew Mister Holmes. And of course, Mister Smith was a very handsome man. A man, one woman would definitely want to dance with tonight.   
Clara stood and made her way down to the entrance hall, smiling at herself.

  
The large ballroom with the marble floor was decorated with flowers and candles. Everything was bright and shiny. She let her eyes wander around the guests and found Mister Holmes standing in a corner, all by himself. Why had he changed his mind? Why was he always standing alone? He had put on a dress coat, black of course. His posture was straight, his hands folded behind his back and he was watching...her. She smiled and had almost walked over to greet him when her sight was taken over by Mister Smith. “Miss Oswald!“, he reached for her hand and kissed it boldly. Clara couldn't help but chuckle. This Doctor really was something else indeed. “Would you care to dance?“, he asked and pulled her with him. They started swaying to the music, he was leading her like a gentleman. Clara embraced her role with delight. There was something about this man that made her feel light and free. With him everything seemed to be easy as if nothing else mattered but the fact that they were young and should love each day. His face was enlighted by a boyish grin and Clara smiled back. It felt like something was coming along. Something greater. Something awesome. They were spinning around and suddenly she caught Mister Holmes staring at them. He looked confused, almost indignant. As if he was wondering why Clara was dancing with the Doctor. Shaking her head, she decided to focus on her partner and ignored Mycroft Holmes until they had finished their dance. By then, Mister Holmes was gone.

After a glass of wine, Lydia joined them. The Doctor was making jokes, Lydia found each of them hilarious of course while Clara at least tried to act reseved. She did not want to give him too much credit. Her cousin did. Soon, Clara decided to leave the two of them alone even though the Doctor did not seem to approve. He was always standing a bit too close to her, talked to her a bit too enthusiastically. Obviously, he liked her. But somehow he was moving too quickly.   
Lydia brought his attention back to their conversation very quickly and her cousin thanked her silently with a smile. Stepping away into the entrance hall, she smiled. It was cheerful. A wonderful evening, in fact. She found herself leaning against the door frame and had just closed her eyes when she heard steps of a man next to her. She smiled before she opened her eyes and found, to her surprise Mister Holmes standing in front of her. “Miss Oswald“, he said and she bowed in response. “Not the one you expected, I suppose?“, he asked dryly. She smiled at him, rather confused by his question.   
“I wasn't expecting anybody. Are you enjoying the ball, Mister Holmes?“, she replied.  
“I find it quite tolerable but you seem to be very content, are you not? About Mister Smith?“, he disposed and Clara wondered what he was trying to tell her. Why did he keep on watching her like a hawk? It was almost creepy.   
“Mister Smith is a very kind man“, she answered, trying to sound calm.   
Holmes snorted. “Very kind indeed. Do you not think it is inappropriate for a woman such as you to be so...intimate with a young man?“   
At that, she frowned. “A woman such as me?“, she asked.   
His face gave her nothing when he explained: “Your social status. Given the circumstance that you have applied for an employment as Mister Barnes' new governess in London, it would only take so much as a brief scandal to cause your life to totter.“  
Her eyes went wide and she opened her mouth, not sure what to say. “How do you even know about my application? Have you had some spies in my aunt's house before you came here? Is this how our government works?“, she pressed.  
His eyebrow twitched arrogantly, his posture had not changed. “No, your Aunt told me so over tea“.  
“How dare you?“, she asked. “How dare you to suggest something like that about me, you don't know me! You don't know a thing about me!“. He wanted to say something but she went on:   
“And how dare you to speak about a friend of yours in such a rude way? The Doctor is a good man“.

“You know nothing about the Doctor. The Doctor deals with phenomena you do not understand“, Holmes said. “He does not help people, you see. He is not the white knight you have been dreaming about. He is not your salvation, nor your protector. And he is most certainly not my friend. I do not have friends“.

Clara felt a familiar rage falme up inside her chest. This man was an arrogant snob, just as she had thought at first. “You deride a man who has done nothing but being friendly, I see why you don't have any friends, Mister Holmes. That much is none of my business but let me tell you one thing: I may be young but I am able to take care of myself. I have learnt to deal with this world on my own long ago. So don't you dare to tell me who to be with and how. And don't you ever dare suggesting to know just a thing about my dreams!“

With that she pushed herself off the door frame and stepped back inside the ball room. He was impossible! Absolutely abhorrent! What an arrogant, idiotic, ignorant man! Who did he think he was?  
She looked for somebody to distract her and found her Aunt Kate. “I have seen you had a conversation with Mister Holmes, my dear?“, she asked and raised her eyebrows curiously. It was all Clara could do but roll her eyes and bite back a groan. “I would rather call it an argument“, she answered, as she watched the Doctor and Lydia dance. He was swinging her around almost too wildly, making Lydia giggle like a child. She looked so happy in this moment and Clara felt her rage slowly cooling down. “An argument?“, her Aunt seemed worried. “I hope you have not said anything that could enrage him. He is an influentual man, Clara“. - _I couldn't care less!_   
But of course, she did not say it out loud. She decided to focus on the ball and shook her head politely. “No, of course not, dear Aunt“. Kate seemed satisfied, she smiled gently, her brown eyes full of tenderness. “Good. May I suggest that you should accept if he asks you to dance with him“, she went on. Clara blinked and looked away. “He has not asked me yet and I doubt he ever will“. - _And I would rather dance with a dog!_  
Kate looked a little bit disappointed. “A pity, really“, she said. “Mister Holmes may be a bit advanced in age but he would definitely be a good match.“ In that moment said one stepped back inside and stood only a few feet away from them. “Aunt Kate!“, Clara exclaimed quietly. “He is almost 20 years older than I am.“  
“Oh dear, your uncle was 15 years older than me. Age is nothing but a matter of perspective“, Kate smiled. She was a modern woman in this manners. Or maybe she just wanted to set her niece up. Which Clara was not interested in. And especially not with Mister Holmes.   
“He is very rich, dear“, Kate went on, her voice dropped to a whisper. “And very powerful, too. Some say Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in England“.   
_Well_ , Clara thought. _That much explains his arrogant behaviour._ She shook her head and looked at her Aunt. “I do not care about power, dear Aunt. My social status means little to me as you know, I would rather be independent and die a spinster. I'm never going to marry a man like him!“

In that moment, the music ended and Clara's breath stopped when she realised that half of the room had heard her last sentence. She could feel his gaze on her without even looking and felt like running away immediately. - _Oh my god!_   
Her eyes strained towards Lydia who suddenly looked alarmingly pale. And before she could register what was happening, Lydia's eyes fluttered closed and she faded. The Doctor catched her from falling down and her aunt rushed towards them with a loud cry.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

After Miss Stewart's breakdown there was a proper commotion. Lady Stewart, Mister Thomas, the Doctor and a few maids carried her upstairs while the guests were watching. There was someone needed, he realised. The servants needed to be introduced, the guests needed to be sent home. Looking around he found the only plausible object for this task: Miss Oswald.   
She was standing at the foot of the staircase and looked after her family, unsure what to do. Mycroft approached her and carefully touched her arm. “Miss Oswald“, he said but she did not react. She was in shock. Her face was rigid, her lips were slightly trembling and her eyes stared into nothing. Mycroft stood in front of her and took her by the shoulders. “Miss Oswald“, he repeated calmly and when she still did not react he said: “Clara“.   
At that she blinked and raised her eyes up to him, looking confused as if he'd just woken her up from a dream. It was the first time he had spoken her first name.  
“You need to instruct the servants“, he said and kept his voice even and clear. She frowned slightly and Mycroft knew that he had to go a little further. He squeezed her shoulders lightly. “Your guests need to be sent home and your servants need instructions. They are waiting for you down in the kitchen.“ If there was one thing you could rely on it was this. Whenever the servants did not know what to do they went back to the kitchen, waiting for instructions or explanations.   
Slowly, her awareness seemed to find its way back to the moment and her eyes grew wide. She stared at him, obviously unable to cope with the situation. She was young, after all. “I..“, she began and Mycroft could see how helpless she felt. “I can't. I can't do this, I've never done this befo-“.  
“I am afraid you have no choice in the matter“, he intervened. “Your Aunt and cousin are not here, the only person able to guide them now is you.“ He looked around at the guests who stood lost in the ballroom and the entrance hall, unsure what to do with themselves. - _Fools!_  
Clara's eyes had drifted off once more, her face lowered. He squeezed her shoulders once more to bring back her attention. “They need you“, he said and she started sobbing. - _Dear Lord, no!_  
Why were women always crying? She looked back up the staircase, clearly worried about her cousin. “Lydia...“, her voice was shaking.   
Mycroft understood that he needed to make himself clear. He let go off her shoulders and caught both of her hands instead, holding them up between them. Her hands were alarmingly cold. “Listen“, he said, his tone a bit rougher now. “Your cousin will be fine. Probably she had too much of the wine but it does not matter for there is nothing you can do about it.“ He knew his words were sharp and unkind but it was the only way he knew he could reach her. Through her anger and her defiance. “The one thing you have to do now is instructing your Aunt's servants and sent the guests home, do you understand?“ The fire in her eyes told him that she did but he decided to go one step further. “If you want to be grown woman it is about time that you act like one.“ Her jaw was clenched by now and he could see it boiling beneath her surface – the anger. “You would not want to disappoint your Aunt now, would you?“, he asked and raised his eyebrows to underline his argument. At that she broke free from his grip and gave him one last destructive look before she clumped down to the kitchen.   
After a few minutes the servants appeared to take care of the guests. Mycroft said his goodbyes and couldn't help but smile. It had worked. He had tried to be sensitive which had not been very helpful, just as he had expected. Miss Oswald had needed a push and he had given it to her by making her angry at him once more. For some reason he felt a little proud. The young woman found her way back upstairs very soon and said goodbye to each of their guests politely. Finally the last people had left and Miss Oswald told the servants to take care of the decoration. Mycroft was watching her. He did not know why he had not left for his room long ago for she was doing well on her own. Perhaps it was about the way she spoke to the servants. She was not really ordering them but much more asking them in a friendly way to fulfil their duties. This woman was a paradox, he found. In one moment she was gentle, in the next she was furious. Then she was funny, and then again angry. She was like the English sea. Wild, capricious and unsettled.   
When she turned to go upstairs, she stopped next to him. Her anger had slightly faded. She knew why he had spoken to her that way. She understood. With a curtsy she wished him a good night and Mycroft waited a few minutes before he followed.

It was the middle of the night when a strange noice woke him up. Mycroft set up in his bed and listened carefully. There. The same noice again. He stood and walked over to the window. The moon was almost full, illuminating the courtyard. A carriage was being prepared, suitcases were load onto it and two horses were bitted. Mycroft looked closer when a male figure left the building and got inside the carriage without looking back. - The Doctor.   
Mycroft watched the carriage disappear into the night and wondered where “Mister Smith“ was going. It must have had something to do with Miss Lydia, that much was for sure.   
When he returned to his bed he decided to leave the next day as well. The sooner, the better.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

“No!“, Kate Stewart exclaimed in the early morning, her voice so loud and shrill it made Clara flinch. “No, this cannot be right! You must be wrong, Doctor Brimely!“   
Doctor Brimely was the family's doctor and her Aunt had consulted him last night immediately after her cousin Lydia had faded. “I am afraid I am not, Lady Stewart“, he murmered inside his grey beard. “All evidence is given. Your daughter is pregnant“.   
Lydia was still in bed, her back leant against the wooden head board. Clara sat next to her cousin and held her hand. Lydia's skin was still alarmingly pale. Her blonde locks were messed up and her eyes appeared even smaller than they were usually. Clara couldn't believe it. How could Lydia be pregnant? Her sweet, little Lydia...  
Aunt Kate was in shock which she was underlining by her furious denial. “You must be wrong, doctor! My Lydia has never been with anybody!“, she said, her voice a bit lower this time. Doctor Brimely took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was in his late fifties, his hair was getting thinner each day and Clara doubted that he could see properly even with his glasses on. “I have never been with anybody!“, Lydia repeated after her mother, as if to reinforce the argument. Clara believed her. Lydia was a very private and shy person. She would never have....  
“I am sorry, Lady Stewart“, Doctor Brimely looked back at Aunt Kate. “But the evidence is giving me no doubt. I will come to see your daughter again in a few weeks. Until then she should rest.“  
He packed his suitcase and stood. “I am truly sorry, Lady Stewart. Miss Lydia. Miss Oswald“. He nodded and the maid escorted him out. As soon as the door was closed, Kate let out a sigh and turned to her daughter. Clara could see the fear in her cousin's eyes and squeezed her hand. Kate let herself sit down on the other side of the bed, next to her daughter. “Listen, dear“, she began. “When you were back in London...“, she hesitated. But both Clara and Lydia knew what she was about to say. “With...with Mister Smith...“, she stopped herself once more and Clara froze. - _Mister Smith?_  
Lydia turned her head towards the window, her eyes staring into nothing. “Darling“, Kate tried to reach for her hand but Lydia pulled away. “Leave me alone“, she whispered while her eyes were filling with tears. Clara swallowed. She would have loved to hug her cousin tightly, to tell her that everything was going to be fine but she could not. “Lydia-“, she said nonetheless but the blonde woman repeated: “Leave me alone!“, her voice shaking. Kate nodded at her niece. Lydia was pretty much in shock herself and clearly needed to rest. Both women stood up and left Lydia's bedroom.   
Outside the door, Kate reached for Clara's arm. “Clara, dear“, she said and the young woman could not remember a time when her Aunt had been closer to tears. Kate did never cry. “Has your cousin mentioned anything or anyone to you?“. The very question seemed to choke her but she needed to know. Clara swallowed hard and searched her memory for her cousin's words. She shook her head. The only man Lydia had ever mentioned was the Doctor whom she had met in London a few weeks ago. But Lydia had only said so much of meeting him. Nothing more. And Clara could not honstely imagine her cousin to do anything...inapproriate. Her Aunt nodded. “Well, however this happened, we have to make sure that not one word of this leaves this house“, she eyed her niece keenly. “Am I understood?“.  
“Of course“, Clara replied and couldn't help but frown. She was not a child anymore. She knew full well what this would mean for her family.

It was after breakfast when Mister Holmes announced his immediate departure. Clara would not meet his eyes. The whole affair of the passed night was making her feel uncomfortable. Even though none of the other guests had had any idea whom she had been talking about, there was a great chance that Mister Holmes had heard it himself. _“I'm never going to marry a man like him!“_  
Even though it was true and she still meant it, Clara wished that she could take it back. Why was she always mouthing off? And Holmes, being a genuis of course knew who she had been referring to. Kate apologized for last night's discomfort but Mister Holmes seemed to be a “forgiving nature“, as her Aunt later pointed out and it took Clara much effort not to laugh at that. This man was anything but a forgiving nature, she had learnt that much within the first days of his visit.   
When they said goodbye and she curtsied in front of him, Holmes looked her up and down once more before his eyes bore into hers for one last time. His eyes were of an icy blue that made her almost shiver. They could see through her. Read her mind. “Miss Oswald“, he nodded.  
“Mister Holmes“.   
When the carriage disappeared behind the bend of the road both women walked back inside. “A shame really“, her Aunt started again and Clara rolled her eyes briefly, making sure Kate did not see it. “He definitely would have been a good match, you know“. 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 

As soon as Lady Stewart's mansion disappeared behind the first bend Mycroft let out a sigh and relaxed. He was going home. Soon he would be in London again, back to his work, back to his order and his well-chosen isolation. Three women had been too much for him.

Lady Stewart with her indications of marriage...

 

“ _How is it that you have not found yourself a wife, Mister Holmes? I am certain there are enough compliant objects?“_

 

It had made his stomach turn. Marriage was nothing but a waste of money and space. It was truth universially acknowledged that marriage led to unhappiness on both sides. And he could spend his money well enough on his own.

 

Miss Lydia Stewart with her fondness of the Doctor (even worse than Miss Oswald) and now her obvious pregnancy. Mycroft did not have to ask in particular. The way Lady Stewart had avoided his gaze, telling him that her daughter had suffered a dizzy spell and was going to be well again soon had been enough for him. This much explained the Doctor's hurried departure as well. Mycroft could not have cared less. It was a shame for Lady Stewart. She had always been an honest woman, trying her best to live up to the great image her father had created. And Miss Oswald?

 

What would it mean for her if her cousin's dishonourable pregnancy was to be discovered? It would cost her the application as a governess at leat at Mister Barnes', that much he was certain about. _Poor thing_ , he thought briefly but shook his head almost immediately.

 

“ _I'm never going to marry a man like him!“_

 

She was a stubborn child who had refused his advice rather rudly. What did he care what was going to happen to her?

He would never see her again for which he was glad. The world was full of young women who believed themselves unstoppable. Clara Oswald on the other hand was a quick study, very clever, he gave her that. But cleverness was useless in the face of overestimation of one's own capabilities. His younger brother was proof enough.

Shaking his head he chose to banish their encounter completely from his mind.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

A few weeks later....

 

 

_Dear Papa,_

 

_thank you for your letter. I am afraid I cannot report anything nice to you these days. Lydia is still not better. Aunt Kate has sent for three different doctors but the diagnosis remains the same. Your niece is pregnant. And she has no idea how this can be. I am glad that you cannot see her now for she barely stops crying. I believe her when she says that she has never been with a man. You know Lydia, Papa! You know as well that she would never do anything as reckless as this._

_Aunt Kate is trying her best to stay strong, at least in front of us. But I know that deep down she is asking herself if this is not all her fault. She keeps asking herself if it was wrong to let her daughter go to London all by herself. Sometimes I walk in on her, sitting in the salon over a book but her eyes are far gone. When I join her in these moments she pretends to read although I can see that she is reading the same sentence over and over again._

_I try to stay with Lydia as much as possible. Somehow it is getting worse. Her stomach hurts now almost every day. She describes the pain as a feeling of being stabbed. When she tells the doctors so they say that these are typical signs of a new life growing inside her. But Lydia refuses to believe it, of course. She told me once that it feels like a nightmare, a very bad one. She said to me, Clara, if I really was to carry a child should it not be me to know for sure? She said, Would I not know if there was a new life developing inside of me?_

_And as if this all was not bad enough already I do have bad news, too. In the letter before my last I told you about my application to Mister Barnes as his new governess. It turns out that somebody must have told him about Lydia's current state. Yesterday, I received a letter from Mister Barnes, explaining me that under these circumstances my application will longer be considered. I feel lost, Papa._

_I do not know what to do. You know that I had hoped I could make a living on my own, independant from a man. I know what you would suggest if you were here but I do not want to marry because of money. Remember when I was younger you told me that I could be everything I wanted to be if I stood up for myself._

_However I am not giving up. I will not let this unfortunate events turn my life upside down. Maybe I will be able to get another job, somewhere close to Aunt Kate's._

_I hope you are well. I miss you and I wish you were here to hold me._

 

_Love,_

_Clara_

 


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

 

 

2 months later...

 

 

 

_Dear Mister Holmes,_

 

_I am aware that you have certainly more important things to do but I need your help._

_My daughter's healthiness has not rebuilt yet and even though my everything tells me that the doctors are wrong, I am afraid I will have to accept the truth eventually. My daughter is having a baby. Which is simply impossible for she has never been with a man as far as I know and as far she tells me. Surely you remember last year when I asked you to keep an eye on her while she was in London. You know that back then it was when she first encountered Mister Smith as well._

_I must confess that I am desperate and you are my last hope._

_I have tried to contact the Doctor several times but he is nowhere to find. I know if there is someone able to find him in London it is you. You may wonder how all of this is any of your business but considering the fact that I have just signed the X papers I assume that you owe me a debt._

_Furthermore there is one more favour I need to ask you for._

_My niece Clara Oswald has moved to London last week, trying to make herself a living. After her application at Mister Barnes' had been denied she was very sad and afraid that she would have to marry to avert falling into poverty. You have met her, you know how stubborn she can be. She went to London to prove herself that she will be able to make it on her own. I want to ask you to keep an eye on her like you did on my daughter back then. My niece works in a taverna named The Rose & Crown as a barmaid. Who would possibly do such a thing? But Clara has always had a head of her own. I am asking you to keep an eye on her for her safety. London is full and so much darker than she knows and she believes herself unstoppable which is, I suppose, the worst part. My niece's greatest power may also be her greatest weakness: her self-esteem. _

 

_Yours sincerely,_

 

_Lady Katherine Stewart_

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 

It was cold these days. She spend most of her time inside the pub luckily. Her usual day began at seven in the morning and ended about midnight, during week-ends it would last until three or four in the morning before she could get to bed. The landlord had given her a small room just above the pub, small and wooden with a petite window looking into the courtyard.

It was afternoon already and Clara was busy cleaning the tables and taking orders. There were hardly any women around here and some men used to forget about their manners after they' d had a certain amount of beer. Actually she couldn't blame them for she was looking rather attractive. She was wearing different dresses now, with far deeper necklines, her hair mostly falling down on her shoulders. Some men took her look as some sort of invitation when they were drunk.

But until now she had gotten on pretty well. If it was getting too risky, all she had to do was to call out to the barman, Joe. Joe was in his early fifties, very kind and very tall and strong. In case some guests were intrusive he could kick them out easily. It was tougher than she had imagined it, though. Clara missed her family. And she kept on worrying for Lydia whom she had left in a state of illness, or pregnancy, whatever it was. It was close to Christmas by now and it would be the first time that she would spend it alone. After Mirster Barnes had retired his job offer as his new governess, Clara had gone through a brief phase of depression and had decided to move to the centre to make herself a living. It had been about time. Like Mister Holmes had pointed out that night, if she wanted to be a grown woman, she had to act like one. And she did.

Picking up a few empty cups, she looked around for any orders and found none. Then she stepped outside and placed the cups on a barrel when suddenly a strange looking man passed her, the snow crunching beneath his shoes. Had she not seen this face before?

“Oi“, she called out and placed her hands on her hips. The man stopped but did not turn around immediately. “Do I know you from somewhere?“, she asked. When he turned to face her it took Clara a few minutes to process who was standing there right before her. And then before she even knew what was happening, she'd run towards him and punched him. “You!“, she exclaimed, all the anger and frustration of the past months flaring up inside her. “You loathsome coward!“. Another punch and this time the Doctor landed on his back. Clara looked down at his shocked expression, his glasses slightly out of place on his nose. He rubbed his jaw and she immediately became aware of the enormous pain which was unfolding in her fist. “What did you do to her?“, she asked bluntly as Mister Smith or whatever his name was slowly came to his feet again. He still ahd not said a word. “What kind of man leaves a friend in teh middle of teh night after a breakdown? What are you? Who are you?“.

He blinked and turned his head, his neck cracking strangely. “Clara?“, he asked disbelievingly.

“That's Miss Oswald to you!“, she spat.

“What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here“.

“I ask you the same question, Mister Smith!“, she replied. “Where the hell have you been?“

The young fellow's eyes skipped from the left to the right, thinking and possibly lying. “Here and there“, he announced and Clara felt like punching him again.

“What's wrong with my cousin?“, she pressed. “You know that she is not pregnant, so why did you leave in the middle of the night like a guilty man would? You know something, don't you?“

In a rush of anger she grapped his coat and shook him violently. “Tell me what you know!“

His hands found her wrists and he stopped her. “I'm sorry“, he slurred and let his head drop. “Lydia is not having a baby, of course. But she's ill, very ill. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do“. His eyes found hers and she stilled. What was he saying?

“Nobody can“, he added and let go off her wrists when she let her shoulders drop at her sides numbly. “I'm sorry“, he repeated and she shook her head.

“What are you talking about? What's wrong with her? Why can't you help her?“ She didn't understand. There must have been a way to help her!

Suddenly, she heard a strange noice behind her and the Doctor's head shot up in response. His eyes went wide for a second before he grapped her by the shoulders. “Clara“, he said, his voice suddenly alarmed. “Don't move“.

“What? Why?“.

“There's a snowman right behind me, right?“ She looked across his shoulder and found he was right. There was standing a snowman behind him with a very creepy face in fact. Had it been there before? She knitted her brows in confusion.

“Yes, there is. Why? Did it appear out of nowhere?“, she asked.

He nodded. “It's not supposed to be there and neither is the one right behind you“.

“What?“ In a sudden motion she tried to look around but he stopped her by cubbing her face in his hands. “Don't look at them. Don't even think about them, do you understand?“

“How?!“, she screamed when suddenly a storm of snowflakes was blustering around them. It was getting cold, very cold. The snow was blurring her view, she couldn't see properly anymore. Everything was turning white and cold. She was shivering. “Focus“, the Doctor told her and lowered them both to the ground on their knees. “Make them melt“, he said but she shook her head in fear. How was she supposed to make snow melt? She felt tears in her eyes or maybe it was the snow, she couldn't tell. “Make them melt“, he repeated. “Melt them with your mind!“ Clara closed her eyes in despearation and thought about melting snow. She could feel the cold on her naked shoulders, numbing her ears and hands. Then she heard the sound of splashing water and found the back of her neck wet and cold. She opened her eyes and the snowstorm was gone. The Doctor let go off her while her hand found her neck. There was water running down her skin. What had just happened here? “I am sorry“, the Doctor straightened his clothes, a bit soaked himself. “But that is just the reason why I'm here. Gotta find out how to stop it“. Clara leant her back against a wall, still on her knees, trying to understand. “What are they?“, she asked eventually.

“I don't know yet“, he answered and prepared to leave. “But I will find out. Do not follow me“. He turned to leave but stopped once more. “I am sorry about Lydia“. And then he disappeared down the alley, leaving a confused Clara behind.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

 

The snow had stopped falling and the wind was slowly dying out in the streets of London. The street lamps illuminated the cramped alleys weakly, the shadows and dark corners almost covering up the entire space. He could hear some cheers, male, light voices maybe two streets away. There was no music in the “Rose & Crown“, the yellow light breaking through dirty, almost blind windows, falling onto the snow outside like century old dust.

Mycroft Holmes let his eyes scan the life inside the bar, making out a few poor souls already drunk, the bar man...but no barmaid. After reading Lady Stewart's letter he had considered a rather harsh note as an answer for Miss Oswald was not his problem. But his gentleman's code forbid it. As far as Lady Stewart was concerned, Mycroft was the closest thing to an acquaintance her niece was capable of having here in town and as a young woman with a way too great self-esteem she could easily run into a trap. Actually he would not have been surprised if such a thing occured to Clara Oswald. She was itching to experience the world so much that she forgot about her safety easily. Her temper was made of defiance, bravery (stupidity) and an insatiable curiosity. A dangerous composition but not uncommon, Mycroft found.

The thought that she might have gone to bed already crossed his mind and he was about to turn away when he heard a soft sob close by. He stepped around the corner of the bar's backyard and saw a woman kneeling on the floor, her back leant against the brick wall of the house. It took him a second glance to recognise her. Clara Oswald was wearing her hair down, so it was falling on her shoulders and her auburn dress looked ragged around her form. Lifting his umbrella, he walked close until he was standing in front of her. But she didn't look up. “Miss Oswald“, he said and looked around for any signs of a flight. There were imprints of shoes in the snow. - _Male, early-thirties, lean figure, rushed, a friend ? no, but not a stranger either_

Something not pleasant had happened to her, that much was obvious. When she did not react, he crouched down in front of her, searching her gaze. She was sobbing, her breath was faltering and her eyes were fixed on the ground. - _Shocked, terrified_

“Miss Oswald“, he said once more, louder by now and she finally met his eyes with hers. Her pupils were dilated hugely, her breath kept falling out of her mouth heavily. - _Faced a near-death experience only minutes ago, someone, no something had tried to kill her_

“What happened?“, he asked patiently and her eyes glanced down his form and back up to his face before she threw herself at him in a desperate motion, one arm around his shoulder, the other pressed against his chest. Mycroft froze in response, dropping to his knees out of balance, his hands awkwardly at his sides, surprised by her action.

“Miss Oswald, don't“, he said and had no idea what was he was going to do. She did not react, only buried her face in his chest and sobbed harder. “Miss Oswald, Clara!“

It was hard to breathe this way with her clinging to him as if her life depended on it. But he couldn't find the strength to push her away, either. If that was what she needed right now, somebody to reach out for, somebody to touch then he should let it lie, should he not? He wanted to say something else but he couldn't think of the right words. - _Calculation: she was truly desperate, Solution: comfort, Plan of action: none_

Following the logical advise of his brain, he didn't move for a while and let her cry into his chest. Suddenly it dawned to him that her back was soaked in cold water. - _Melted snow, how?_ Careful not to touch her he took off his black gown and put it around her shoulders to keep her warm. It seemed to be the right thing when she slowly drew back and pulled the gown around her form thankfully. She kept her head bowed when his eyes inspected her. - _Ashamed, afraid, awkward_

“Get up“, he said quietly and extended his arms. Miss Oswald carefully placed her hands in his, watching them as if she was touching some precious relict. Obviously she was scared to touch him which made him wonder why she had hugged him only seconds ago. Her hands were as cold as ice. Mycroft helped her standing and studied her face intently. She was still not looking at him. When she tried to pull away her hands he held on to her. Then she finally lifted her gaze. “Are you all right?“-“Thank you“. They both had spoken at the same time and he bowed his head apologetically. It caused a thin smile across her features and Mycroft felt the corner of his mouth twitch in response. What was that?

“I'm all right, yes“, she answered, her voice a bit hoarse but strong. “Thank you“. He nodded and let go off her hands for good. Casting one last deducing look around the alley, he asked: “Do you know a place where we can have a conversation without interruption?“.

Clara Oswald blinked as if she was having doubts that she had heard him correctly. Then she nodded and went back to the back door of the “Rose & Crown“. Mycroft followed her.

It was obvious what had just happened: Miss Oswald had just met the Doctor again. And that meant great trouble for the whole town.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 

Clara let Mister Holmes through the back door and up the stairs to her chamber. It was all dusty and narrow, far from comfortable but it was enough with a small bed, a dresser and a wardrobe. Mister Holmes had to bow to get inside for the door frame was so low, even though he had taken his top hat off. It made her wonder what it was like to be so tall. He looked around her chamber, his hat in his hands, clearly appalled by the standarts. “This is where you live?“, he asked calmly with the slightest hint of disbeliev in his tone. “This is...your place?“. She smiled thinly. Of course, the great Mycroft Holmes was used to better conditions but what did he expect? She was working as a barmaid, for God's sake! “Please“, she gestured to a wooden chair, next to the dresser and he took a seat carefully as if he was fearing he could break it. Clara sat herself down on her bed, pulling his gown a bit tighter around her body. She was still freezing. “You met Mister Smith, I presume“, he began not to mince matters and she blinked in surprise. “How did you-“, but she stopped herself.

_He may be a genius but not a clairvoyant, he observes, come on, think!_

His face gave away his impatience with the slow processing of ordinary heads and he took a breath to explain himself, clearly annoyed to must do so when it hit her. The snow! The streets were covered in snow! “Oh, I see! Footprints!“, she said in excitement and smiled at him, more than a little proud of herself. Holmes raised an eyebrow at her. “Correct“, he replied and lay all his arrogance into that one word. But Clara was too exhausted to even mind it. “Tell me what happened“, he requested and she shook herself slightly at the memory of the sudden snow storm. “Can't you deduce it?“, she asked, not willing to share her horrible experience with him. She could not even stand him but he had been the one to find her, he of all people! And as if all of this wasn't bad enough already, she had broken down in front of him, she had thrown herself at him like a tripped child! Mister Holmes slowly leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looked at her intently. “I could“, he said. “But it will be easier for you if you talk about it, the sooner the better. You are in shock and you need to deal with this situation to get over it as quickly as possible.“ She swallowed. He was right but still...

“Nothing can happen to you“, he added, his voice almost gentle now. “Whatever it was, it is over. You shall be fine“. Clara took a deep breath, nodded and did as she was told. 

After she had finished, he seemed to run through a thousand possibilities in his mind, his eyes looking through her. Clara watched him, not sure if she should ask him about it or not. But in the end she did what she would always do. “So, what are they? What are we going to do?“. His eyebrows shot up in response. “We?“, he asked. She nodded confirmatively. 

“Yes, there must be something I can do. Those snowmen are dangerous“. 

Mycroft Holmes did not look at her when he came to his feet. “You do not need to trouble yourself with this“, he stated, his voice cold and distant once more. “This is a matter of national importance and therefore classified information. I have confidence in you not to tell anybody what you have just told me. You better forget about it“. Clara gaped at him with her mouth open, lost for words. How could he be so cold after what she had just been through. He strode towards the door but turned back to her once more. “The gown is yours to keep“. He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes, stepped out of her chamber and was gone.

For a moment she was completely dumbstruck. She had just opened up to him after almost facing death and he treated her like a child in response. And now he was going to leave her behind, to leave her alone in the dark with nothing but his stupid black gown! She took a breath, ripped the material off her shoulders and went after him. 

Clara pulled the back door and called out to him, finding him halfway down the alley already. He had put his top hat back on his head and turned in response. She stumped into his direction, all of her previous fear forgotten. Her fists were clutching his gown and she threw it at him with all the strength she could find before she even stood in front of him. Then she put her hands on her hips and looked him straight in the eye. “I don't want your gown!“, she spat. “I don't want anything from you, sir!“

Mister Holmes raised a brow at her, his face blank. “Very well“, he answered calmly and folded the gown over his arm. The fact that he noticed and ignored her fury made her want to scream in annoyance. He was still not taking her seriously. 

“Listen, sir!“, she growled and her tone brought back his attention. “For a man of your kind who believes himself a gentleman you're acting absolutely uncourtly! I just told you what happened to me, I could have died tonight and all you do is expecting me to keep quiet about the whole affair and go to sleep! You treat me like a child, just like you did back at my Aunt's, you're not telling me the truth! Don't deny it, you know that there is something odd going on here and you know the Doctor, you have met him before!“

He gave her a penal look, his blue eyes cold and icy like frozen lakes. “This is none of your business, Miss Oswald. You should not agonise about things you do not understand. You survived and that is all that should matter to you. You should clear your head and go back to your life in....“, he hesitated and Clara could almost feel his pity. It only increased her anger. “Your life as a barmaid. Forget about it. Like it never happened“.

“Like it never happened“, she repeated dryly and looked at her shoes briefly, feeling her jaw clenching. “You know I would love to do so but unfortunately I only just escaped from death and I'm afraid it will take time to forget about it! And don't you tell me to go back to my intellectually undemanding life as a barmaid, living in a small chamber, so very far from the standarts of a woman of my rank!“ She stamped her foot furiously and walked back. After three steps she turned around once more and held out her hand in his direction. “And for the record, Mister Holmes: I didn't need you to save me! You came along after it was already over, I already had made it out alive and therefore I do not owe you a thing!“ She blinked when she realised that she was shouting.

His eyes didn't leave her when he stepped closer, towering over her almost drasticly. But she did not move. She was not going to be afraid of him. “I never meant to dismiss the situation you faced tonight. What I meant to say is that you must not try and dig deeper within...this topic. For the safety of you life, you have to forget about it and not allude to it ever again.“

Clara raised her chin. “Why?“

“I cannot guarantee your safety if you keep running into dangerous situations, which I know in that case you did not but you may will. And I cannot let that happen.“

She furrowed her brows at him. Was he implying that he was concerned about her safety? “Why?“, she asked once again. Mister Holmes sighed.

“Your Aunt requested to keep an eye on you. Since you are all by yourself in London she was worried about your safety“. She had known it! Aunt Kate was not trusting her enough to make her own living. Just like everybody else.

“Well, send my regards to my Aunt and write her this: I am not a child anymore! I can take care of myself perfectly and I do not need a man to look out for me! And tell her that perhaps it's not much but I am earning my own money and it is mine! This is my life and those are all my decisions“. With that she left him standing in the alley and had almost reached the back door when she heard his voice again. “Miss Oswald“. His tone was different and it made her turn.

“I understand“, he said to her great surprise. “You were dragged into this in the moment the Doctor stepped into your Aunt's house. You were compromised and you want to express your inner strength. I will give your regards to your Aunt.“

Clara's hand was already on the doorknob but she wasn't sure if she should get inside. She was surprised. Mycroft Holmes sounded more empathic than she had ever thought him to be capable of. “I am certain you are doing fine“, he nodded and even smiled at her. “Goodnight, Miss Oswald. See you very soon“. 

With that he turned around and vanished down the alley. 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

 

_Dear Aunt,_

 

_I can hardly believe what happened yesterday! I received a letter from Mister George Maitland who works in the financial world of London, saying that he heard of my “excellent skills and great experience with children“ and that him and his wife are in need of a governess!_

_They invited me to have tea with them and meet their children – Angelica and Artie, very lovely kids. I cannot believe it myself, dear Aunt but they hired me! Today, I packed my few things and moved into their large house. I have got a chamber on my own, much bigger than the one over the bar, of course with a desk, a dresser with three mirrors, a very comfortable bed and an incredible view into the garden. The house is smaller than yours, of course but it reminds me of my home in Blackpool. I have written to father as well and I think he will be reliefed just like you will be to know that I live in a proper household once more._

_It is a curious thing, though._

_I have absolutely no idea how they may have heard of me, for I have made no other applications since I came to London. I know you would keep your promise of letting me find my own way, well, at least until I met Mister Holmes_

 

Clara stopped in her movements and let the feather hover over the paper, thinking. Of course, she wouldn't send it that way to her Aunt, that much would be rude. But wasn't it curious that she had received a letter from a wealthy family which was coincidentally in need of a governess only three days after her encounter with Mister Holmes? She shook her head and folded the piece of paper, putting it aside and reaching for another one on her new desk. It was made of dark mahogany and the surface was as smooth as it looked.

Why would he of all people in London help her? He couldn't stand her for all she knew and furthermore, he did not seem the type of noble man that helped young, stranded women. Mycroft Holmes was an arrogant, selfish snob who took great pride in working for the government. Three days ago he had at least tried to act empathic but only because he wanted to get information. He had used her and left her his gown like he'd felt the duty to some sort of pay her for her efforts. But Clara was no cheap harlot, she was Clara Oswald, daughter of Elena Ravenwood and she was making her own decisions. That much she had told him and he had not been enraged, neither confused by her behaviour. Well, good for him, she thought and began a new letter.

 

_Dear Aunt,_

 

_I do have great news_

 

 

What if she discretely asked Mister Maitland about Mister Holmes? She couldn't possibly ask him whom he had been told of her skills as a governess but maybe she could give a slight hint? A part of her wanted to shake this thought off as quickly as possible. Mister Holmes would not even help her if her life depended on it without getting somehting out of it in return. But what if he had done it nonetheless? What if he was a good man after all?

Clara placed the feather aside and leant back against her chair, looking around her room. It was beautiful and far more comfortable than her previous chamber and she asked herself if she owed all of this to him. What if she did? Would he ask her for a favour in return? What kind of a favour would it possibly be? And when would that be?

However, she had decided to keep her job as a barmaid at “The Rose & Crown“. She would leave the Maitland's for the week-ends, for it was her freetime anyway and would spend it in town in the pub. She hoped to be able to meet the Doctor again there and find out more about the odd happenings with the snowmen and of course, ask him again to help Lydia. She would not accept a word from him until he was at least willing to try and help her. Clara was convinced that her cousin was not pregnant and whatever it was that had befallen her, it would not turn out well.

She sighed, considering to write a letter to Lydia as well when a knock on her door startled her.

“Miss Oswald?“, it was Artie's voice through the heavy wooden door. “Angie's being mean to me!“

Clara smiled and got up, leaving the letters for later.

 


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 

Mycroft Holmes was not a religious man. He did not believe in God or some other higher power or such a thing as fate or magic. His logical being forbid him to. He focused on facts, always looking for information and mostly the truth.

However, he would attend today's easter mass nonetheless. For he knew that the Maitland family would be there and their new governess would be with them, of course. Mycroft had pulled a few strings a few weeks ago and soon Miss Oswald had received a letter from Mister Maitland to intoduce herself. The rest had been up to her. He had been right. Clara Oswald knew her business and she knew exactly what words she had to use in front of the right person.

After their encounter in the alley behind “The Rose & Crown“, he had decided to take the matter into his own hands. Miss Oswald had a lot potential and she could be of great use for him. And she would do it on her own free will which was going to make it even easier.

He settled himself to the right, his eyes scanning the room for the Maitland family. He knew George Maitland from past businesses, an honest man, something rare these days. The rest of the family he had never met before in person but he knew their faces anyway. The first person he spotted was Miss Oswald. She was wearing a fine dark blue dress and a matching hat, her dark hair up, disappearing beneath it. Mycroft could tell from the way she was walking that she was feeling proud. She was holding hands with the children, a girl maybe at the age of 12 and a boy, perhaps three years younger. Miss Oswald gestured them to sit down on a bench, quite close to the altar, so he could see her perfectly. As the children slowly settled down, their parents came inside, joining them. Miss Oswald sat down herself and smiled at her fosterlings. The girl did not seem to be very fond of her new governess which was coming from the (terribly wrong) idea that she was trying to replace her mother – _typical misimpression at this age_

Her brother, Mycroft could not recall the name, only seemed to worry about how long he would have to stay here –  _obviously bored_

Mister and Misses Maitland seated themselves next to their new governess without giving their children a second glance. As long as she was working they were her responsibility. And Miss Oswald took it on with a great effort as it seemed. She was enjoying it, her new life he could tell. Mycroft slowly took off his hat and placed it on his lap. In this moment, the door was being closed, everybody settled and the priest entered the church. This was also when her eyes locked with his. He nodded slightly and he could tell that she was doing her best to keep her expression controlled, clearly surprised to see him here. Miss Oswald nodded back and let her eyes wander across from him, then back to his briefly before she casted her gaze forwards to the altar.

During the mass, he watched her unobstrusively. She kept on forgetting to blink, her eyes fixed on the priest. - _She wanted to avoid his gaze, was telling herself that she should focus on the mass instead of him. Her posture was straightened, too much so for she tried to avoid skidding or nervously tapping her foot. Her curiosity and her rationality were at war. It was fascinating..._

He could tell that she was aware of him watching her on occasion. So, when he decided that it was getting too obvious he pretended to follow the priest's words while he was shutting himself off enough in his mind palace to not hear anything anymore.

The mass ended eventually and all people got up at once, seemingly itching to leave. The crowd was blocking the door, so they were forming a queue. The Maitland's stepped first with their children behind them and Miss Oswald was last. Mycroft stood behind her swiftly, without drawing attention. “My congratulations, Miss Oswald“, he muttered and she tensed slightly but did not turn. She was smarter than that. Instead she hissed over her shoulder: “And do I owe my promotion to you, Mister Holmes?“ - _Clever she was, indeed_

He stood a little bit closer than necessary, making sure that only she could hear his words. He could smell her perfume and almost feel the warmth of her body. He could hear her slowly breathing in and out. “Of course not“, he murmured. “You are doing perfectly fine on your own, like you said you would“. He knew he was teasing her but it was too enticing to call it off. Mycroft had always enjoyed playing others with words, he always won.

“Then mind to tell me what you're doing here?“, she whispered back, her head halway turned but her eyes still on the children in front of her. “You don't seem like a religious man to me“.

He had almost chuckled but stopped himself soon enough. “You are correct in your assumption; I am not. May I assume that you have kept your appointment at “The Rose & Crown“?“.

There was a long pause from her after that. She was conflicted between denying it and simply changing the subject. She threw a glance forward. The crowd did not seem to dissolve. “Why would I-“

“At the week-ends, then?“, he interrupted quietly. She froze. “I see“, he added softly.

He could see her swallow before she shook it off and asked: “What do you want?“. Mycroft smiled even though she couldn't see it, he was sure that she knew anyway.

“As far as I am concerned I want to find the Doctor as well. But I am not very involved in..legwork“, he said. “You on the other hand are a lot more en route as it seems“.

She was getting impatient as the crowd began to disappear slowly through the doors. “What is it you want, Mister Holmes?“, she hissed.

“You want answers for the sake of your cousin, I want answers for the safety of England. This is a matter of national importance, so I must strongly advise you to keep quiet about it“.

The mention of her cousin seemed to work for she nooded slightly.

Mycroft took another step closer, as the last men and women were leaving the church, whispering into her ear: “I do have an offer I would like to discuss with you at the Diogenes Club. Look for it in the newspapers tomorrow.“ He made a pause, only to see what effect it caused. She was waiting. And that was good. “I wish you a nice day, Miss Oswald“.

With that he stepped around her and left the church with easy steps. As soon as he had gotten inside his carriage, he smiled. He knew she would come.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 

She had known it! He was responsible for her new job and of course, he wanted something in return. It was the next day, early morning, the streets foggy, wet and empty and Clara Oswald was sitting in a carriage, the newspaper unfolded in her lap. It was on the page of the employment ad where she had found the denotation of the Diogenes Club, a gentleman's club she had never heard of before. The carriage soon stopped and she got out, finding herself in front of a large, impressive building. She looked at the denotation again:

 

**Diogenes Club**

**Save in the**

**Stranger's Room,**

**no talking is allowed**

 

Her eyes fell on the golden sign next to the entrance.

 

**Diogenes Club**

**Members only**

 

Clara furrowed her brows and looked around the street insecurely. Was this really where Mister Holmes summoned her? She looked up at the building and found nothing that could have been of help in any way. Once more she looked at the denotation and then around the street. The few people walking around seemed too busy to take notice of her. So, she drew a deep breath, brushed down her dress and stepped inside.

She found herself in a great entrance hall with a marble floor and walls with very fine plastering. In front of her there was a sort of reception with an old man standing behind it, his expression absolutely neutral. _Oh yeah_ , she thought. It appeared that the adress was correct. When she stepped closer, her heels ticktacking awkwardly on the marble floor her eyes fell on a small sign on the reception table: ABSOLUTE SILENCE

She swallowed uneasily and couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It really was silent in here. Even the man's breath was barely audible. Clara shook it off as best as she could and nodded at the man politely before she held up the newspaper and showed him the denotation. The old man smiled in return and told her something in sign language which she did not understand, of course. He gestured her to follow him and she did. What else could she do? If Mister Holmes wanted to speak to her, he would have made arrangements for it. They reached a door with the inscription: _Stranger's Room_ and the old man knocked before he opened the door and held it for her. Clara slowly stepped inside, lifting her skirt to avoid stumbleing and as soon as she was inside the door was being closed behind her. It was a dark room with stone walls. The sunlight was falling weakly through high windows, illuminating the room just enough to see a bit more than one could in the dawn. Dust motes were swirling in the rays of light, the smell of the ancient carpet was fusty. Carefully, she took a few steps towards the giant bookshelves underneath the windows. She was about to reach out for them when a voice startled her and she jumped. “I am most content that you could make it, Miss Oswald“.

Whirling around she found Mister Holmes standing behind her, next to the door frame. Her heart was still pounding hard in her chest when she said: “Well, I didn't have much of a choice, did I?“. He stepped from the door frame and came closer, his hands behind his back. She could tell his suit was handmade, even in the dim light. His movements were careful, elegant. “There is always a choice, Miss Oswald. Even if the only choices we seem to have are bad ones“. He stopped and briefly looked her up and down. She hated it. The way his eyes examined her clothes, her hair, her fingertips, her expression. She felt defenseless, completely extradited. She decided to change the subject; she wanted answers. “What is this place?“.

He smiled thinly, or maybe it was just a trick of light, then stepped around her, slowly walking through the room.

“The Diogenes Club. A place where men of nobility can go to read without any distractions. At least this is what we tell the public.“

“We?“, she asked, more than a bit curious.

“I co-founded this establishment. You may consider it as my place of working.“

“So, is that why you're not allowed to speak? Because it is...classified?“

He smiled, really smiled this time but said nothing. Instead he gestured her to take seat on a chair, opposite from a desk. Clara did, her eyes fixed on him. This whole thing was mysterious and more than just a little odd. But it was also interesting. Mister Holmes leant against the desk, looking down at her, the fingers of his left hand on a document, laying on the table top. “Speaking of business“, he began, his voice cold and strict. “The appointment I offer you requires legwork. I will tell you where to look for information, you will go there and find it and afterwards you will report it to me. Given the circumstances of your job as a barmaid, it will be easy for you to move within the catacombs of the mob“.

She had almost pulled a face at his words. This man really did enjoy hearing his own voice. He seemed to notice, so she quickly asked: “Legwork?“, not really sure what he wanted to imply. Holmes sighed impatiently. “Yes. I do not have the time for strolling through the town from one place to the other just to get an answer only one of five men can give. You on the other hand have a position in the very centre and you are able to excuse yourself now and then if necessary.“

He glanced at the document, took it and handed it over to her. It looked like an official contract, much more official than the one she had signed at the Maitland's. The sign of the Crown was on it. “So, you're asking me to be your spy?“, she asked, not looking at him, knowing that he was rolling his eyes.

“I prefer to consider this position as much as an agent, Miss Oswald“, he replied and crossed his arms over his chest. “Given the necessity that you must never mention it to anyone, not even your family.“

Her eyes found the paragraph named: _Duty to keep confidential_ just then. It was highly official then, civil service. And if she was to sign this contract, a breach would be treason. And she would not get payed for it.

She thought about it for a moment. Then she raised her head to look at him.

“Why me?“, she asked and searched his eyes, not knowing what she was hoping to find there. But she found nothing.

“You want information concerning the Doctor and so does England“, he stated. “I will give you the names and you will find what I need and deliver it. And who would be better than somebody who has already seen the most terrific things that could possibly occur?“

She smiled. “So, you're saying I'm special“.

His face turned to stone at once and she swallowed hard. The room seemed to get colder instantly. “I have never said as much“, he retorted and leant forward slightly. “Do not twist my words, Miss Oswald. This has never been working out well for anybody before“. It was a thread, and she got it. But she did her best not to show him. She smiled nonetheless, apologized and muttered under her breath that he indirectly had said as much but he did not respond.

“And why would I accept such a mysterious offer?“, she pressed. Somehow she wanted to drew it out.

“You will accept because you are bored, Miss Oswald“, he answered tiredly. “Because your greatest fear is wasting your life and because there is something in your mind telling you that you could do better than this, that you could make a difference“. She opened her mouth but the words weren't coming. She wanted to tell him that she would not accept. She wanted to tell him that she was certainly not watsing her life and that everything she did was for her cousin. She closed her mouth and looked at the contract thoughtfully.

When she reached for the feather to sign it, he stopped her, his fingers touching her shoulder. It made her flinch and he withdrew immediately. “Remember“, he said in a low tone. “Once you have signed it there is no going back. And I cannot guarantee your safety“.

She looked at him, thinking. She was going to become an agent, leading a double life as the governess of the Maitland family during the week and spending her week-ends searching for information concerning the safety of the country, without getting payed for it. It made her smile. She was not interested in his money. She was not afraid. It was going to be fun and hopefully she would be able to find and convince the Doctor to help Lydia. “You're saying it is dangerous“, she answered. “But I'm not afraid“.

His expression seemed to soften the slightest bit. “I know“.

She smiled brightly in response and signed the contract before she could think twice.

Mister Holmes let her go after a few more minutes. When she was at the door, his voice reached her ears once more: “I will see you on Saturday morning, Miss Oswald“

“Clara“, she replied. “You can call me Clara“.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

 

“Enough“, the young woman spat and swept a dozen of document papers from Mycroft's desk in a rush of anger. Clara Oswald turned, pacing the room, her hands on her hips. “It's been three weeks and all you have given me were useless things that have nothing to do with the Doctor!“, she exclaimed, giving him a look of reproach. He watched her calmly, letting her indulge her outburst of fury. She was so easily enraged these days, he had noticed. - _No news from her cousin, then. Problems with the Maitland's daughter who was refusing to accept her as the new governess_

Miss Oswald was frustrated.

“Since you do have no experience in this field of work, Miss Oswald, you will have to practise“, he explained. “I am not going to send you off to battle right away. Not before you have acquired a certain amount of necessary skills“.

She turned and walked back to him, proping her arms on his desk. “What battle?“, she asked impatiently. “What skills? You don't tell me a thing about what's to come. So, how would I know?“ Her brown eyes glared with rage. Like a gleam of fire. It made him smile in his mind, his face giving nothing away, of course. Mycroft stood, bowing to collect the documents she had thrown off his desk only minutes ago. She crouched down instantly, feeling sorry but being to stubborn to admit it. So, she helped him, picking up the pieces of paper. He stopped when she handed them over to him and looked at her seriously. “I will let you know when the time comes“.

As a response, she clenched her jaw, stood and threw the document around the room once more. Mycroft closed his eyes briefly, reminding himself to stay calm. She was trying to push him but he would not indulge her. With a sigh, he stood and placed the already collected papers back on his desk.

“I have no idea what you are trying to achieve with this rather childish behaviour of yours but it will not work on me.“, he stated. She clearly desired his attention and was trying to distract him.

“Tell me about the Doctor“, she pressed as he bowed once more to gather the remaining documents from the floor. “You shall receive that information soon“, he answered dryly.

She was next to him in a rush, collecting some of the papers and putting them behind her back, out of his reach. It almost made him groan in annoyance. What was wrong with this woman?

He put his pile on the desk and held out his hand. “Give them to me“.

“No“, she said roundly.

“Hand them over, Miss Oswald“.

“Tell me about the Doctor, Mister Holmes“.

“No“, he replied coldly. “Now, do have the affability and hand me the documents“.

“No!“

“You are being childish, Miss Oswald“.

She snorted and turned her head away. “That's what you think I am, isn't it? To you, I'm only a child. You are never going to take me seriously, are you?“.

“I am going to ask you in a nice way for one last time“, he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. “Do hand me the doctuments“.

She shook her head.

“Do not make me get them from you“, he narrowed his eyes.

Taking a step back she said: “Why don't you try an-“

She was cut off when he rushed forwards and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her to his chest, holding her immobile. His left hand found its way to the arm on her back, twisting her wrist just the slightest bit upwards. He could see in her face that she was doing her best not to show him but it hurt. Feeling her fingers soften, he knew she was about to drop the papers, unable to do a thing about it. He could feel her razing pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Do not ever turn your body into a position you cannot escape from again“, he whispered into her ear, his lips nearly making contact with her hair. She made the attempt to pull back but he was too strong and her posture to weak. He held on a bit tighter but not too much. He had no intention of hurting her, of course. All he was doing was to demonstrate her her actual chances in a fight. She suppressed a groan, trying to keep her breath even. “Do you feel this?“, he asked somewhat cruelly.

“I could make you kneel. If I were to be someone else. If I was actually going to hurt you.“ He could feel her forcing herself to relax in his grasp. His words were reminding her that she had nothing to fear from him. Mycroft in response, losened his grip a bit. “You see there is a lot for you to learn if you want to find the answers you are looking for“.

With that he let go off her but remained standing right in her space, breathing her air. “Now“, he said and looked at her expectantly. She let out a sigh and finally handed him the documents, not meeting his eyes.

He could tell that this sort of situation was new to her. No man had ever been able to defy her before. She was a libertine, used to do as she pleased. And for the first time she had met a man whom restrained her. It was only logical from her point of view to try and fight him. But she still had to learn that they both belonged on the same side. Looking into her eyes deeply, he said: “If something like that ever happens to you out there stay calm and focus. Find the weak points of your enemy and go for them. And then run. Run like the devil himself was after you“. Her eyes searched his face, looking for something like an emotion. But they didn't find any. So, she just nodded quietly.

He stepped away from her and sat back on his desk, pouring them two cups of tea which had been brought in before she had arrived. He gestured her to take seat and she hesitated before she did. “Mister Smith“, Mycroft began. “is a code name, of course“. Her head snapped up, a flash of surprise in her eyes but he ignored it.

She was not ready, he knew this much. But they could not wait any longer. He had planned to tell her today from the start, of course. Her outburst had been an opportunity to show his power and he had found himself unable to resist. There was one weakness he had, the weakness of always having to be right. And in the end he was.

The truth was that he was going to risk her life. And she knew. In fact, she was waiting for it.

 


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

 

_My dear Clara,_

 

_I hope you are doing well. We all miss you very much._

 

_Unfortunately, I do not have good news. Your cousin is still in a quite critical state and her pain seems to be increasing. She tries her best to hide it from me, as she always has but as her mother I know when my daughter is hurt. Her face loses a shade of colour every day and she gets thinner and thinner. Sometimes, when I touch her I feel afraid that I she might break like porcelain. Our dear little Lydia looks so very fragile by now. However no doctor in this country seems to be able to tell what is wrong with her. Your great uncle Benjamin has sent for a foreign doctor from Spain to visit and it may take another week before he might be able to see her._

_I really do not intent to frighten you, my dear niece, but I am afraid we might lose her. She looks as if she was dying and all I can do is sit here and wait for help._

_I am asking you to visit her at least for one last time after you have abandoned us so all of a sudden. I know you are doing your best to find the Doctor and the answers we so terribly need but certain events make me think that it might not succeed. Lydia misses you very much and I know it is her wish to see you again. Your imployer may allow you a few days off as soon as you mention my name and the fact that it is a family incident. We are looking forward to see you._

 

_Love,_

 

_Aunt Kate_

 

 

 

The letter slipped from her hand as Clara let herself sink down to the floor of her room. She let her fingers comb through the fabric of the expensive carpet and did her best to hold back her tears.

 

“Doctor“, she whispered to herself. “Where are you, Doctor?“

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for keeping you waiting! I'm back now! Enjoy!


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

Before he even heard the footsteps approach, Mycroft knew Miss Oswald was not alright. She was way too early, almost in a hurry as it seemed. He could sense the underlying panic of hers and saw it in her eyes when she entered his office.

She had received some bad news from home recently.

“Miss Oswald“, he greeted her and thanked Mister Wilde who'd brought her in with a gesture. The old man bowed respectfully and left silently. She looked at the closed door for a while before she turned to face him. “Teach me“, she blurted out and he blinked at her words.

“I beg your pardon?“

“Teach me sign language, I want to learn it“, she clarified, her expression serious.

Mycroft raised a brow at her and folded his hands. Her posture straightened the tiniest bit, just enough for him to notice. She hated this gesture of his.

“And why do you think this would be helpful, Miss Oswald?“, he asked. She stepped forward until she stood directly in front of his desk, her fingers touching the wood. The slightly dark circles beneath her eyes and the trembling of her arms told him that she had not slept well for days. “Everytime I come here, I end up standing in front of this friendly old man who smiles at me every single time and I cannot even thank or greet him“, she tried to make her voice sound strong but it was wavering slightly. Mycroft could tell that she was keeping up her last resources of strength. But it would not last long anymore.

“And as far as I can tell I am going to see him a few more times and I want to show him some respect“, she added. At that she frowned slightly.

“He's not..really deaf, is he?“, she asked carefully.

Mycroft brought up his hand in front of his mouth to hide the twitch of his mouth. That girl really was too innocent for this world, sometimes.

“I am afraid, he is, Miss Oswald“, he answered. “I understand your concern about being respectful to him but may I ask where this idea is coming from?“.

“From right here“, she almost spat and pointed a finger to her temple. “Straight out of my head, Mister Holmes. It's my idea and I found it all on my own. Can you imagine that?“.

Mycroft came to his feet and held up his hands, trying to calm her down. She was being irrational and it would be for the best to just grant her her “wish“ if he wanted to prevent her from breaking down crying on the floor of his office. And, god, he really wanted to prevent this.

“My apologies, Miss Oswald. I meant no disrespect by asking you this.“

He slowly made his way around the desk and stood in front of her. She turned her body towards him and raised her head to look at him. She seemed calmer already. But there was still something sceptical in her eyes. She was still not trusting him. Clara Oswald still saw him as the villain, the bad guy who was just waiting to humiliate her and was going to let her down in the end. Mycroft realised that he had to do something to earn her trust. If he was going to send her out into the streets again to find the information they needed, she had to trust him. Therefore they needed to create some sort of bond, an understanding between them. They needed a connection, something her critical nature could hold on to when she was in doubt about his actions. Mycroft didn't know that much about creating healthy realtionships or even a base for it (he had failed at trying with his own brother). But as far as he knew a teaching experience could be helpful for both sides. It would test both of their patiences and they would have a subject to talk about to ease away upcoming tension. He raised his hands and looked at her expectantly.

“I will show you a few basic signs. Just mimic my movements and try to copy them with your own hands“.

She raised a brow at him, as if to tell him that she was not stupid but she said nothing.

 

They had been trying for a while and she was being a quick study. There was just one thing, she failed to get right. It was constant and it remained, no matter how often he pointed it out to her. It seemed as if she was not listening to him on that point. And Mycroft hated not be listened to.

“You are moving too quickly, again“, he said, trying not to let his obvious tiredness show in his tone.

“How is Mister Wilde supposed to read you when you just rush through it?“

She blinked and looked at her hands, wondering. When she furrowed her eyebrows he could tell that she was cursing on the inside. Actually, it was rather amusing to watch.

“You have to slow down your movements, give them time to unfold like words...let me show you“

Pushing his doubts aside, he reached out and closed his hands gently around her wrists. It got him a sharp look of hers but she did not withdraw. At least she was not afraid of his touch anymore.

She still flinched at it but out of surprise. And a surprise it was. Usually he did not even shook hands when meeting people. He did not touch, as a rule. Mycroft was not sure why he had decided to reach out to her. He told himself that it was easier that way. But when he went along, moving her hands in a slow pace, guiding them softly up and down he knew that there was something else to it. It was in the way, her arms relaxed in his hold. It was in the way she let her eyes follow the movements, trying her best to remember them all. It was in the nervous heat that he could feel radiating from her that made his heart best speed up the slightest bit. Trying to focus on what he was doing, he decided to ignore his confusion. It was a fascinating thing, in fact, his body's reaction towards hers.

Maybe it was because he was allowed to feel her movements directly, to feel her soft and warm skin sliding against his, to feel each delicate twist of each of her muscles, exposing all the parts of her in front of his inner eyes he could not see. Mycroft could not remember the last time when he had thought of a woman in that way. Even in his most private thoughts he rarely went so far because most women were not able to get his attention. Clara Oswald was. In a way.

“What happened?“, he found himself asking quietly. She stilled and looked into his eyes, her gaze searching. Their movements had stopped but he was still holding her hands in his. Mycroft found that a part of him did not _want_ to let go off her. Not now. Not later. And this part was hoping that she would not try to back away. It was not logical. There was no logic to this part at all.

“What do you mean?“, she asked in return and he felt a spike of impatience with the situation.

Why did she always made the effort of lying to him even though she must have understood by now that it was useless? He swallowed a comment about this fact and gave her a knowing look.

There was a brief shadow of pain across her features before she blinked it away and gently freed her hands from his grasp. Mycroft felt this particular part of him willing to hold on but he got it under control just in time and let her go.

Miss Oswald turned away from him and found her bag on the chair in front of his desk. She opened it and got an already opened letter out. - _Read several times, clutched, bad news, personal, family..._

Before she had even given it to him without another word Mycroft knew everything he needed to know. Her cousin was getting worse and her aunt was blaming her indirectly because she still had not found the Doctor. He read the lines nonetheless and nodded to himself.

“If you wish to go and see your family-“, he began but she cut in:

“No! No, I don't want to go....“. She looked at him as if she was expecting him to send her away.

“I want...I _need_ to find the Doctor. I know he will be able to help Lydia and maybe he's the only one who can“. Suddenly she walked up to him and put her hand on his arm, her eyes almost pleading. “Mister Holmes“, she said. “Will you help me?“.

Something inside him seemed to ache at her look and her words. She was truly desperate and the one person she was turning to was him. Him of all people! He should say no. He knew that much. She was not ready for this. She was too soft, too gentle and too kind for the things out there. He was about 65 % sure that she would be harmed. Or worse. Last week a drunk man had thrown a tentrum in “The Rose and Crown“ and she had to call the barman for help for not getting hit by that bastard. Clara was being helpless on her own. He had to say no.

But instead he nodded and grabbed a document from his desk and gave it to her.

“Last week, two men were found in the back alley of a flower shop. Frozen. Their eyes still open.“

As she looked through the papers, trying to make sense of what she knew Mycroft realised a terrible mistake on his part: He was starting to care about her.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for pausing so long...had a bit of a block on this story, gonna update more regularly from now on.  
> Comments will be appreciated ;)

Chapter 23

 

The snow had stopped falling only a few minutes ago, yet the air remained bitterly cold. Clara pulled her gown tighter around her shoulders and did her best to stop her teeth from chattering.  He must not notice her. It had been the middle of day and she had been out for a brief walk with the Maitland children when a tall and slightly skinny figure had caught her eye. On first sight he seemed like nothing but the perfect, older English gentleman but Clara had had a feeling that there was something wrong with him. Curious whether she was right, she had sent the children home with Anne, the familiy´s housemaid, excusing herself to buying herself a new pair of gloves (which had not been entirely untrue for she had lost hers a few weeks ago).

She kept following the strange man, hidden in plainsight at first. He had crossed the market and she had pretended to buy something. When he left the public places and disappeared into a back road she did not hesitate. Now it was getting interesting. She kept her distance and hid behind a corner now and then. He went into the hidden back streets, that kind of place where not even the estrays wished to go. The air was foggy and sticky here, the daylight almost firmly shut out so Clara could barely see anything. Rushing from one house corner to the next, she tried to keep her breath even while her heart was pounding wildly inside of her chest.  All of a sudden the man stopped and turned.

“Come out“, he spoke coldly. “I know you are there.“

Clara held her breath for a moment and pressed her body back against the cold stone wall, hoping to crouch deeper into the corner to stay out of his sight. She pressed her lips together and waited. Then, she heard another voice.

“You have left us waiting“, it hissed in a tone that sounded almost inhuman. Clara leant forward the slightest bit to get a glimpse of who the man was talking to. But she could not see anything.

“It will be done very soon“, the man answered. “Tell him to leave it to me“.

There was another hiss and this time Clara felt like the air around her had gotten colder on an instant. She leant in further and her eyes went wide at what she saw. The man was talking to a snowman. It had appeared out of nowhere just like the last one she had encountered with the Doctor. Except that this one was larger. It was almost as tall as the man in front of it.

“Do not forget“, the snowman said. “You are ours“.

And with that it disappeared, transforming into snowflakes. Clara leant back again, pressing herself into the dark and waited until she heard the man´s footsteps carrying him away once more. Slowly she stood and stepped out onto the street to follow him but let out a shriek of surprise when she found the man standing right in front of her all of a sudden.  

“What are you doing here?“ His voice was dark.

“Nothing, I was just wandering around, sir.“

He regarded her with a dangerous look that told her that he did not believe her and she swallowed. His eyes were of a cold grey, matching his hair underneath his black top hat. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, making him appear older than he probably was. He was a lot taller than her, almost as tall as Mycroft Holmes.

“It is not well for a young woman to follow a stranger around these days…and lie to him“, he said and took a step closer to her. But Clara stood firmly in front of him. She was not going to be afraid.

“Furthermore I can tell you are taking a sudden interest in snow“, he went on and Clara blinked. Where was he going with this? The man took off one of his gloves carefully.

“Tell your friend that no one can stop the Great Intelligence.“

Clara had barely the time to wonder what the Great Intelligence was before she felt his hand around her throat. Gasping for air she felt herself suddenly getting colder and colder…and colder.  She had grasped his wrist instinctively but found that she could not keep a hold on it. Her body froze in the truest sense of the word. Her arms and legs stiffened, shocked by the sudden icy fire that spread on her skin and inside her veins. It was crawling down her body, reaching her insights. Her lungs seemed unable to let her draw another breath, there was a high pitched loud sound in her ears and a sharp pain right behind her temples. The man stared at her intently, his hand firm on her throat. The last thing she saw were his cruel and terrifying eyes before her sight turned to black.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

 

His eyes did not leave her pale features. The blanket barely raised under her thin breath, her eyes and lips were closed. Clara Oswald lay on a wooden bench in a safe house, hidden behind a fascade of an empty garage.

She was alive but way too cold. Doctor Watson was checking her pulse regularly and made her swallow small sips of tea to get her warm again. Behind him, Mycroft stood, pressing the tip of his umbrella into the wooden floor, willing to put up enough strength to make it burst.

So, it had been the right decision to let one of his men keep an eye on her. But it had not been enough. It was his fault. His miscalculation had almost killed her. His contact man had sent for him only minutes after the attack on Miss Oswald and Mycroft had been there almost in time with Doctor Watson. In this situation he had not known who else to contact and Watson was a doctor after all. He could hear his brother's bothering questions and ideas already, so he decided to stay as discreet as possible around his army fellow. Said one turned to him after checking Miss Oswald's pulse again.

“Whatever happened to her, it almost killed her. Her body temperature is much too low, we need to get her somewhere else, soon. An open fire would be for the best and she needs to drink. It's serious but as soon as she gets warm again, she will make it“

Mycroft considered Watson's words for a moment. Before he reached the one and only conclusion.

“My townhouse shall do“, he sighed. The doctor looked at him in wonder.

“Your place?“

Mycroft's grip around his umbrella tightened. He really hated to explain.

“Miss Oswald will hardly be able to stay at your place, neither can she return to her employers in this state and as you have just pointed out, she needs constant care. I shall send a message to the family she works for, something about an emergency.“ He straightened when Miss Oswald coughed in her sleep.

“So, you are going to take care of her? Yourself?“ Watson seemed even slower tonight.

Hanging his umbrella over his arm, he took a step forward, reaching beneath Miss Oswald's sleeping form and lifted her up in his arms. She appeared to be much lighter than he had expected, even with the blanket wrapped around her.

“I have already called for a carriage“, he stated, not looking at the former soldier.

“I expect to stay available, Doctor“.

“What happened to her?“, Watson asked. “Considering her state she must have been outside without a coat all day, she's almost frozen. And there are strangulation marks on her throat“.

Mycroft hesitated for a second. _What they had done to her._

“This is a matter of national importance and I shall not discuss it with you and neither should you whisper any word of what you have seen to anyone outside this place“.

Before Watson had a chance to answer, the door was opened and Thomas walked inside.

“Good afternoon, sir. Doctor Watson“.

“Mycroft...“, the army doctor started but he was utterly ignored.

“Home“, Mycroft ordered while Thomas held out his arms.

“Sir, should I...“, he gestured towards Miss Oswald but Mycroft shook his head no. This was his fault and he would take responsibility for it.

 

He kept her in his arms during the ride home. Every now and then, her body was taken over by heavy shivers that made Mycroft pull her even closer to his chest. She needed warmth Watson had said, and here inside the carriage there was just Mycroft's body heat. He calculated and came to the only logical conclusion. With one hand, he unbuttoned his coat and pulled her closer to him. Her instincts reacted almost immediately and she snuggled herself firmly against him, her cold nose brushing his neck. Mycroft flinched but decided to let it be. He hated it really. He hated it all. The fact that she had nearly died because of her recklessness, his mistake. They were both equally to blame for the state she was in. He had seen it coming and had done nothing to prevent it. What had let him act so completely stupid?

He laid her down on the sofa in front of the fire place and fetched another blanket to cover her with. Then he made tea for her. A part of him could not believe that he was doing this. Miss Oswald had known what risks she would have to take, she had signed a bloody contract! She was hardly his responsibility and yet he could not find the heart to leave her alone like this. Why, he didn't know himself. Most probably it was his gentleman's code that forbid him to desert a damsel in distress (as if Clara Oswald wasn't anything but that).When he returned from the kitchen she was still fast asleep, the golden shine of the fire casting its gleam over her features. She looked a little less pale at least.

The following hour he spent sitting on the edge of the sofa with his sleeves rolled up and his tie undone. It was getting too warm inside the room but he knew that it was what she needed. Her shaking had stopped and she looked more and more alive each minute and yet there was something peaceful about the way her lips curled into a thin smile in her sleep.

She would smack after each sip of tea he would make her drink and for some unknown reason it made him smile. There was a feeling of reassurance inside him now that there was no doubt that she was going to be fine. Carefully he felt her forehead and found her skin quite warm. Nodding to himself he got up to send a note to the Maitland family, letting them know that their governess was occupied by a family iscident and would not return to them before next week. It was already evening and they would be worried. Besides, he needed the time to talk her out of their agreement. Knowing Miss Oswald to be quite stubborn, Mycroft prepared himself for a rather long and exhausting discussion. But not tonight. He stopped at the door to take one last look at her. She was still sleeping and he decided to let her. She needed to rest and regain her strength. Mycroft himself would not go to bed tonight, just in case. Instead he would do some paperwork, he decided. When he made his way down to hall to his office he could not shake the foreign feeling that was lingering inside of him. He could not recall to have had such a feeling before but being honest with himself he didn't really want to know what it was.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shame on me for taking so long! massive apologies!  
> any comments, though? please? pretty please?

Chapter 25

 

The first thing she noticed was the pricking of a fire quite close to her. Then she felt its heavy warmth upon her face but it was not unwelcome. She remembered feeling rather cold. Blinking her eyes open, Clara found herself in front of an open fire. Slowly she let her senses take in her surroundings. The room she was in was a very large salon, the walls covered with hundreds of books. She was laying on a comfortable sofa, two blankets draped over her. She lifted them up the slightest bit and found to her great relief that she was completely properly dressed. Being naked in a strange house would have been a lot scarier. When her eyes fell through the large window she could see the night sky, its dark blue with a few stars shily blinking against the dirty grey clouds. She sat up. There was an armchair and a small table next to the fireplace, a fairly expensive carpet beneath her feet on which she slowly stood. Her shoes had been removed and placed neatly next to the sofa. She decided to leave them there, so she could move around more quietly. Behind her there was a large globe, made of mahagony. When she looked at the door she almost shrieked in shock at the huge armour from the middle ages which seemed to guard the entrance. Who would have such expensive furniture and a taste so old-fashioned? As soon as Clara had ended her questional thought, she knew the answer. Carefully she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The walls were occupied by paintings, portraits of great men of English history. Given those and the armour back in the salon, Clara started to believe she was at the museum of national history rather than a private house. Moving forward on her tiptoes, she listened for any sound but there was just silence. The lamps gave a weak yellow light, enough for her to take in outlines but impossible to see properly. Was she alone?

“Miss Oswald“.

She jumped and for a second her heart stopped. She turned around to see Mycroft Holmes standing in front of her, hands in his pockets, his expression blank. How the hell did he manage not to make a sound? And what was he thinking scaring her like that? Looking him up and down she found him dressed quite lax for his standarts. His tie and jacket were missing, his waistcoat looked a bit worn out and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, giving her a glimpse of his arms. She swallowed when she realised that he looked quite attractive that way, in this light, from this ankle. Maybe she had not fully recovered from the attack yet. The attack. The memories of the scary man with his icy grip came rushing back in a flash and she took a step backwards even though it was not him she was afraid of.

“Where am I?“, she asked, busy to let her breath return to normal. Her throat burned and her words had come out in a croak. Her hand found her way to the spot she had been gripped upon. The skin there was still cool. Clara supressed a shiver.

“Given the fact of you Walking about I believe you do know the answer to that question, Miss Oswald“, Mycroft answered and raised an enquiring brow at her. Oh, how she hated it when he looked at her like that! Like she was a misbehaving child! Putting her hands on her hips, she stuck her chin up.

“I was not-“ But he raised his hand and interrupted her calmly.

“You are still recovering and I imagine the last thing you remember not to be a pleasant one. You have never been to this place, so your curiosity is a perfectly natural reaction.“

Just as she decided to stand up to him once more, her intention was blocked by the memory of the attack, rushing back instantly. The man's eyes had been almost as cold as his grip around her throat, choking and freezing her at the same time.

“Miss Oswald?“

He had been talking to one of those scary snowmen, mentioning something about a plan. Then he had turned, found her, as if he had known about her presence all along.

_“Tell your friend that no one can stop the Great Intelligence“_

“Clara?“

She gasped as Mycroft's voice brought her back to the moment. Looking up at him, she found him standing closer than before, both of his hands gently placed upon her arms. His eyes were scanning her face, as if he was looking for something there.

“What did you just remember?“, he asked calmly, his voice the only sound in the dark corridor. For some odd reason it made her feel safe.

Regaining her posture, Clara took a deep breath before she blurted out: “There was a man. About as tall as you but probably a bit older. He was... He had a conversation with one of those creatures. He said something about the Great Intelligence and... They have a plan! I don't know what it is but he knows about us...about me. And I...I couldn't...“

“I know“, he interrupted her but his voice was still low and gentle in a way she would have never imagined him to be capable of. Her eyes found his again and for the briefest moment she believed that she would drown in the endless blue of them. Then he blinked and the moment was gone.

“You are safe now“, he added and she nodded, slowly calming down. Feeling his arm around her shoulder she looked up at him again, as he turned her slowly. She let him walk her back into the salon and to the chaise, she had just left and sank down onto it with a sigh. Even though she had just woken up she felt exhausted. Mister Holmes sat down next to her and threw one of the blankets around her form. When she looked at him questionally, he said:“You are shaking“.

It was then when she realised he was right. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf. Clara closed her eyes briefly and looked away, hiding her face from him.

“Sorry“, she muttered. “I am sorry“.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Fear is wisdom in the face of danger.  It is nothing to be ashamed of“.

At that, she looked back at him in wonder. Was he trying to be there for her?

“If there was one person to make an apology it would be me“, he went on.

“Why, for what?“

“I send you out there without knowing what sort of man we were dealing with.“ He stared straight ahead into the fire, its gleam casting funny shadows across his face.

“I let you run straight into danger and you almost died.“ At that, Clara took hold of his hand. Mycroft flinched and looked down at their fingers as if she had just burned him.

“I am a grown woman. I made the decision to follow that man, it was my fault, not yours. I won't let you take responsibility for my actions, Mycroft“. At the sound of his name, his eyes went up to her face. She found herself staring back, helpless to do a thing about it. She felt captured by the blue of his eyes and the way they bore into hers. For some reason it also made her forget to breathe as a strange heat went up from her neck to her cheeks. She swallowed.

“You must be hungry“, he broke the silence and their contact by getting up, freeing his hand in the process.

“Not really“, she murmured but she was not sure if he had heard her. All of a sudden she remembered the Maitland Family.

“Oh my god, the Maitlands! Could I send a telegram? They don’t know where I am. They must be worried.“

Mycroft turned back to her from the doorway. “I have already sent a note to Mister Maitland’s office. They are not expecting you back before the week after next.“

At that she could only blink in confusion. But before she could say another word the man had left the room. Not for the first time since she had met him Clara felt completely dumbstruck.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

 

Mycroft walked into his library to reread some documents about the latest developments in India when her voice stopped him in his tracks.

 

“Oi!” He turned to see Miss Oswald approach him, her expression an angry one. He frowned. What could she possibly complain about after he had generously dealt with her employer right after saving her life? She came to a halt right in front of him, her chin raised and her hands on her hips.

“Who exactly put you in charge of my business, sir? And how dare you telling my employer that I won’t return for two weeks? Do you have any idea what this could mean for my job?” She was afraid to lose her face in front of Mister Maitland, then. Mycroft cleared his throat to interrupt her.

“There is no need to be worried about this, Miss Oswald”, he explained calmly.

“As I already mentioned, Mister Maitland is right now under the impression that a family urgency requires your undivided attention. The two weeks you seem to be so concerned about shall give me time to overthink my strategy, regarding the fact that you have just encountered the head of the creatures and received a warning from him.” His eyes fell to her throat but only for a second. She narowed her eyes at him in response.

“Furthermore”, Mycroft went on. “It will be best for you to disappear for some time. We may know about them but now they also know about us.”

He raised a hand to calm her when she lifted her head at him with an annoyed glare, thinking he’d emplied it to be her fault which of course he had not meant to say.

“I will have to make arrangements, send out a few spies to get information about the man you encountered and the creatures themselves. In the meantime you shall stay here to ensure your safety.”

She blinked at him. “So, I’m to sit around here and do nothing?” She did not seem happy about it. He smiled thinly.

“On the contrary, Miss Oswald. You will be surprised to find that there are things to do to keep one’s mind occupied, other things than legwork. And the less you know, the better for you.”

Clara Oswald still did not seem to be satisfied. Her tone was dry when she replied: “I’m basically a prisoner, then. Your prisoner.” At that, Mycroft let out a dry laugh.

“Consider it a holiday, Miss Oswald”, he replied and turned away. Only to be stopped by her blocking his path. This woman was perhaps the most stubborn lady he had ever encountered.

“We do have a contract, remember?”, she said. “I am perfectly fine and able to take care of myself, also I don’t like it when somebody makes decisions for me. This is exactly why I came here in the first place. To be my own person. So, I might as well finish what I started.”

He shook his head.

“There is a clause in that contract which allows me to disconnect you from any mission that I consider inappropiate and now that this situation has occured I see no other option than to do just that. As your...superior it is my duty to consider every possible scenario and act upon it logically. This may not find your approval however, you have signed this contract as you so deliberately have mentioned and therefore you will have to accept my decision”, he explained plainly, his voice cool and content. He raised his eyebrows at her as her jaw tensed. – _Angry at him, but mostly about the fact that she had to admit that he was right, definitely not pleased with that fact_

“Maybe you should have read the document more carefully”, he added smugly.

“I did read it!”, she shot back almost immediately.

“Then you should memorise one thing, Miss Oswald”, Mycroft straightened his back to underline his following words: “I do not forget. Not anything. Ever.”

The young woman blinked and studied his features for a moment. Then she turned his back on him in one swift motion ( _clearly a quite skilled dancer_ ) but remained standing in the room.

“What is the colour of my eyes?”, she asked, and he could tell that she was smilig to herself while he swallowed down a sigh of annoyance.

“You cannot possibly be serious, are you?”

“What is the colour of my eyes?”, she pressed. Shaking his head, Mycroft decided to give that tantruming child what it wanted, so he could finally return to his work.

“They are brown, actually, though the appearence of the colour changes according to your surroundings. There is a hint of green close to your left pupil which comes out very strongly in the light of the setting sun.” He remembered noticing that detail back at her aunt’s mansion where she used to walk the gardens just before dawn, the golden light of the fading day illuminating her features in an almost picturesque way. Objectively speaking.

“Their colour is altogether a different one when your mood is an angry one”, he continued.

“They appear almost black then.” He finished and waited for her reaction.

She turned her head slowly before she let her body follow. Mycroft was prepared for anger, fear, or distrust for these were the reactions of most people for all he had learnt in the past. But in the face of Clara Oswald, he saw no such things. Instead, she looked up at him in surprise and wonder, and almost in awe. A little smile ghosted her lips and her eyes seemed to grow even larger. How was that even possible? – _Admiration._

Mycroft could not remember the last time when someone had actually admired him for his power of observation and not his position in the British Government. He schooled his features to not let her see that he was in fact a little bit puzzled by her reaction. She was a curious woman, he gave her that. She was different and definitely more intelligent than most. Suddenly he became aware that they were doing nothing but staring at one another, so he turned away and walked over to his desk, turning his attention to his work. He sat when she spoke once more: “So,...I am to stay here? At your house?”

Without looking up, he answered: “There are plenty of guest rooms, the household has been informed about your presence, there have been bought plenty of robes for you to change into and you are welcome to move in my house freely, as my guest. For I will be at the Diogenes’ most of the time I expect you to find yourself an activity to occupy yourself with. Maybe you could...knit something.” He actually had not the faintest idea what a young woman could do in her spare time for it had never crossed his mind that this information could be useful to him one day. And practically it was not.

“Would you mind if I used your library?” He looked up at that. She was still standing at the same spot where she had stood before, her hands folded and her expression hopeful.

“Yes, of course you may”, he said, as if it was not a big deal. Being a well educated woman she knew how to handle literature although he doubted that she read anything else than Shakespeare.

A smile broke upon her face and she looked the most happy he had ever seen her. She almost gave a little jump which he thought to be an attempted curtsy. Sometimes he could not help but wonder if she was feeling well.

“Thank you”, she breathed. “Thank you so much”.

He watched her move towards the first bookshelf which was so much higher than her, letting her fingers fly across the titles, her face like that of an excited child. – _Curious, a lover of books and stories_

Maybe she would not be that much of a burden after all.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

 

_Dear Lydia,_

 

_I have not been writing recently for which I feel truly sorry. London is just as hectic as I remembered but I have found it to be a lot more troublesome to live here than I had expected. But do not worry for me, I am just fine. In her last letter Aunt Kate let me know that you have found a doctor who was able to stop your pain at last. I am so glad. Since Christmas is coming, I would like to pay you a visit as soon as I can. Hopefully I will get to see you by the end of next week._

_To answer the question you have asked me a few weeks ago in one of your letters: no, I have not been able to find the Doctor (or Mister Smith or whatever he calls himself). I did encounter him again, a few weeks ago but after some very strange events he rushed off almost immediately as if in a hurry. I am going to tell you all about those strange events as soon as I see you again for it is a very rare and horrifying thing that seems to have grudged the whole town. There is this bone deep, absolutely terrifying cold that lingers in the streets, climbs through the windows and chimneys into the houses and no matter how much one lights the fire, it seems to get colder and colder. You might as well wonder why I am telling you this. The truth is I feel rather unsettled by recent events. It seems to be something else indeed for Mister Mycroft Holmes himself got involved –_

 

Clara stopped in her movements and looked down at her own writing. She couldn’t possibly send it that way! In one swift motion she grabbed the half-finished letter and threw it into the dustbin, next to Mister Holmes’ desk. She had decided to use the library not only for reading and since her host was at the Diogenes club all day, she was sure he would not mind. But she would have to make sure to fish it out of the bin again and burn it before he got home. Mycroft Holmes was a very suspicious man and Clara did not want him to read her most private conversations between her and her dear cousin. Lydia was still sick as it appeared but the pain had become controllable at least. Aunt Kate had finally found a decent doctor who had been able to take some of the pain away which the huge bulge in her lap caused her but whom had also found that the young woman was indeed not pregnant but deathly ill. There was a tumor in her belly and the chances of saving her from it were horribly low. Clara tried to prepare herself for the possible death of her cousin whom she had practically grown up with but somehow it would not sink in. It all seemed too surreal. Maybe when she'd see her in a few days it would become even more surreal or maybe just the opposite. She really didn't know and to be honest, there was a huge part of her that didn't want to know. So, she did her best to distract herself with books and walking around Mister Holmes’ large town house. She had found her first impression to be adequate, feeling as if she was in a museum. Mycroft seemed to have a great collecting passion for historical artefacts. Not only from English history, though. There were a Chinese bowl and a vase, a quite ugly jar from ancient Greece, a lot of French literature (philosophy mostly, which she had studied a bit by now) and lots of paintings of course, some of them Dutch, German, one from Russia. Given the fact that he was at the Diogenes most of the day she wondered whether he had read all of those books, and if so when did he find the time for a good night sleep? Considering this, he seemed like some sort of machine or at least he tried to propagate this image of himself. He did not do emotions, as he had once pointed out to her but Clara was not sure whether to believe him or not. He was indeed quite good at schooling his features so they gave nothing away, always conceiling things. She had thought about it for a while now and when he was home and they were sitting in his library, she found herself watching him every now and then. To her he was some sort of mystery, a man, so intelligent, so lonely and so discreet and yet he kept her under his roof for safety. Clara decided that he could not be that bad after all.

One evening, they were sitting in his library once more. He was at his desk, reading some documents while Clara had perched herself on the opposite armchair, reading a book in Spanish. Truth be told, she was not actually reading, for she was watching him, trying to read his face, get a glimpse behind his facade.

“That is disconcerting”, he suddenly said without looking up. Clara flinched, then she smiled to herself.

“What is?”, she asked as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

“You are staring at me.”

“I just let my eyes wander”, she retorted.

“You are looking for something, a reaction possibly”, he deduced and finally looked back at her. His suit and tie were impeccable as usual.

“But I assure you there is nothing to find”, he added and turned his attention back to his work. Clara closed the book in her lap.

“I'm not sure”, she admitted softly and gave him a smile which she knew he could see from the corner of his eye.

He ignored her comment, so she changed the subject, realising that he would not discuss it further.

“I'd like to go to my Aunt's this weekend”, she stated and he nodded. Of course that did not surprise him, he knew everything, even her thoughts, well, some of them. When there was no further reaction, she stood and walked over to his desk, standing in front of it. Still, he did not look at her.

“I was wondering if you'd like to come?”

There was a silent _thud_ when the piece of paper he'd been holding elegantly landed on the surface of the desk. So, she could surprise him after all. Clara smiled. Mycroft blinked but kept his gaze down. 

“Thank you for this kind offer but as you know I find myself quite busy.” He brushed off her invitation and took the paper in hand again. 

“Does it ever get boring?”, she wondered out loud.

“What are you refering to?”

“Being on your own”.

Finally, he looked up. His eyes scanned every inch of her face, exposing her thoughts to him. By now, she was used to it whereas at the beginning it had been rather scary to her. It was just what Mycroft Holmes did, reading people, rather than talk to them. That made him seem odd to the most, resulting in avoidance. After a moment, he raised his brows. 

“I'm not lonely, Miss Oswald”, he smiled, attempting to make her believe it was true, maybe even trying to convince himself of it.

“I'm not sure”, she said again before she turned and went back to the armchair and the Spanish novel. They did not talk anymore for the rest of the evening.

 

There was a noise which startled her awake. Clara sat up in bed and glimpsed at the window. The moon was still shining and the sky was a dark blue, mixed up with several black clouds. There it was again, that noise. It sounded very much like scratching. As if there was a cat outside, clawing at the door, begging to be let in. But this sounded much bigger than a cat. To not make a sound, she carefully slipped out of bed, her eyes slowly getting accustomed to the dark and quietly went downstairs, following the noise. The closer she came towards the back door, the louder it got. She reached for the handle when someone grabbed her wrist and she let out a shriek of surprise. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologise for being absent for so long. Was quite stuck about this story. Not anymore, though, I hope.   
> Comments will be appreciated!


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Mycroft let go off her wrist immediately and brought a finger to his lips to silence her. Miss Oswald was staring at him wide eyed, the candle she was holding shaking in her hold. She was in her nightshirt, she had not even bothered putting on a dressing gown despite the cold inside the corridor.  
“What do you think you are doing?“, he hissed and pulled her away from the door.  
“Didn't you hear that noise?“, she asked in return, her voice not much louder than his and her head turned when the scratching at the outside of the backdoor began anew. They both fell into silence, listening. Then it paused once again and Miss Oswald was about to go for the handle once more. He stopped her, his hand on her arm.  
“What. Do you think. You are doing?“, he repeated slowly, as if he was talking to a child.  
“I'm going to find out what this is“, she answered and moved again. This time he blocked her path by standing in front of her. The look she gave him was an annoyed one.  
“Given the fact that there is no evidence of the actual identity of the person or creature which causes that noise we would do wisely to arm ourselves“, he stated and held out his candle for her with an expecting look. She took it, her face a big, round question mark.  
“And besides, this door is locked“, Mycroft added before he walked down the hall and gathered his umbrella. Miss Oswald looked confused when he returned.  
“Arming yourself with an umbrella?“  
But he just smiled and felt quite content when he pulled at the wooden handle and the hidden sword was exposed, its metal gleaming in the weak candle light. She blinked a few times before she met his gaze again.  
“I knew there was a reason why you would always carry it around“, she stated, her expression almost smug. He had to remind himself that he did not smile at other people.  
“Stay behind me“, he murmured and went to the backdoor, the sword held up in defense. He glanced back at her once more, checking. She nodded and he produced the key out of his nightgown pocket and unlocked the door. Then, he turned the handle.  
Once the door was open, he prepared himself for an attack of any sort and was beyond surprised when he found that there was nothing outside. He felt Miss Oswald step out behind him, slightly right from him, glancing around as well. It was freezing cold but the snow had stopped falling and it crunched beneath his slippers. Mycroft glaced back at his guest who had set the candleholders onto the floor. She raised her arms. "Where has it gone?"  
"Perhaps it was a silly prank", he suggested, although he did not believe so. There were no children in this neighbourhood and who else could have...? He'd just considered accusing his brother of this incident when a very hard and freezing gush of wind evolved them. Mycroft had to close his eyes for a moment, trying to get the snow out of his vision. The next hting he knew was that the back door of his house fell shut and Miss Oswald rushed to his side, pointing towards something behind him. "It's them! I told you!"  
They were snowmen. He blinked, his brain trying to process what he was seeing. Snowmen, four of them, with a mouth full of ice teeth and they were moving towards Miss Oswald and him. He turned, looking at the door but found it frozen to the frame. The ice was moving up the entire wall of the house and the sudden storm that seemed to have come out of nowhere grew stronger and colder. In an attempt to keep them away, he started cutting them with his sword. He kept throwing it into the formed snow but instead of cutting them down, they only seemed to grow. Suddenly one of the creatures took hold of the weapon. Mycroft tried to pull it back but could only stare in shock, as a veil of ice wrapped around the knife and he let go before it could reach his hand, stumbling backwards. In the next moment, it broke into a thousand pieces of ice shards. Mycroft stood motionless, the storm now engulfing him completely. He could barely see anything when he felt a hand grab his. Miss Oswald pulled him down with her, getting them to kneel in the snow. In a harsh movement she grabbed his shoulders and screamed:  
"Make them melt! Imagine them melting!"  
"What?". She couldn't be serious! They were going to die. As he could sense them coming closer and closer, he already pictured his own dead frozen body in front of his inner eyes.  
"Don't think about them!", her voice reached his ears barely through the strong wind and he could feel his face and hands going numb. He closed his eyes.  
"Think of something else! Anything else!" He couldn't. They were dying. The cold was all around them, reaching his skin through the thin fabric of his robe, he was to freeze to death, within the next minutes he was going to lose consciousness.  
And then his thoughts seemed to dissolve into smoke when he suddenly felt her lips pressing against his. He thought of pulling away, it was the most indecent thing he could imagine but then she placed her hands on his cheeks and opened her mouth against his. She was warm. It seemed that somebody else had taken control over his body as his mind shut down at once and he put his arms around her and pulled her closer with a sheer recklessness, chasing the warmth of her mouth. He forgot everything around him and his entire mind was filled by her: Clara Oswald. Clara Oswald kissing him.

At first it had been like kissing a statue. He had not reacted at all, had been cold and motionless. Not one movement or sound had come from him. Given the circumstance that he was called "the Ice Man", that of course was all she could have expected (wasn't it ironic given the moment they were in?). She had done it in a desperate attempt to make him forget about the snowmen which had been about to kill them and it was the first thing that had come to her mind. And she was determined to at least try and save them. So, she had kissed him and it had worked. Although she was a bit surprised by his sudden enthusiasm bubbling to the surface as he pulled her against him and kissed her back like he was a man in a desert, finding an oasis. Mycroft caged her in his arms, pressing her against his chest with such a force, her breath caught in her throat for a second. But then she had felt his warmth touching the inside of her mouth and it was like coming back to life. Clara could feel the cold fade, as her body warmed up with each shared breath. She felt surrounded by his scent, his body. His heartbeat pulsed against hers and she couldn't stop the small whimper that escaped her. Then suddenly, she felt a gush of water against her shoulder, soaking her nightdress and she pulled back in surprise. Mycroft was still holding her and she blinked around. The snowmen were gone. She emitted a heavy sigh of relief and looked up at Mycroft, smiling. He stared down at her with an unreadable expression. He was panting, his ginger hair was wet from the melted snow and clinging to his forehead and she felt the sudden urge to brush it away from his face. But before she could move, he let go of her in a rather hurried motion and moved back a little, taking in the melted snow. He looked rather confused but something told her that it was not only because of the snowmen or that they had nearly just died. His eyes briefly fell upon her nightdress before he stood and held out a hand to help her up, his gaze somewhere in the distance. He refused to look at her. Clara took his outstreched hand nevertheless and let him pull her to her feet as well. As soon as she was stable, he let go off her hand and took another step back, as if she had burned him. He cleared his throat before speaking.  
"Well done.", he said before he turned towards the back door, finding it defrozen again and opened it with a click before he disappeared inside. She hurried after him, eager to get into the warmth of the house, yet unsure how he would handle things. Would he kick her out? Would he lecture her on her immoral behaviour? His suddenly exclueding and very formal if not to say cold behaviour caused a strange feeling in her stomach. Once inside, she closed the door and jumped when she suddenly saw him standing right next to her. He locked the door and she moved aside, giving him space to do so. With his back to her, he murmured something about going to bed for now and that he would take care of things the next morning. Not daring to push him after this rather unusual experience, she agreed before she headed up the stairs and into her room to change into a new nightdress. 


End file.
